


Solace And Anguish

by Cesarinna



Series: Unbound, Unbridled, Undefeated [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, BDSM, Bondage, Domme, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Femdom, Gentle femdom, Hurt/Comfort, Male Submissive, Malesub, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Mistress, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Slavery, Not So Gentle Femdom, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Past Violence, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Royalty, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Slow Burn, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesarinna/pseuds/Cesarinna
Summary: Two empires, Keervan and the Odium, have been enemies for centuries.While war brews, the princess of Keervan receives a slave, a man who was once a council member of the Odium. The object of all her hatred kneels at her feet, but she can't bring herself to hurt him.-Don't be scared off by this summary. I'll spoon feed you worldbuilding and femdom.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Unbound, Unbridled, Undefeated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680979
Comments: 145
Kudos: 303





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, and welcome! This is going to be a long ride, so buckle up. The femdom tag definitely could use more content to pad it out, so here's a little wish fulfillment.
> 
> If you reread this sucker, you might notice subtle changes as I go back and polish it!

Solace knew something was wrong the moment she heard the tone of her parents’ voices. It was a coincidence that she happened to stumble across them. None of the royals spent much time in the library. It was reserved for the scholars the Empress sponsored, but neither she nor her family really cared to see what they were doing with the crown’s money. She was taking a different way to the courtyard when she caught the faint lyrical lilt of her father’s voice, rising in anger to her mother’s. That alone was enough to stop her. The Empress’ consort was the docile type. 

“She won’t want him, Verity,” he insisted. “Don’t force her to accept  _ that _ kind of gift.”

“How do you suggest we decline?” came her mother’s composed question. “It’s thoughtful, in a Galeth way. It wouldn’t be advantageous for her to reject a gift from a family known to be violent.” 

“She is the daughter of the most powerful woman on this side of the sea. Solace doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to. He’s a damn  _ person _ , not a commodity.”

That extracts a reaction from her. “He’s one of the people who killed our son,” she snapped. Solace grimaced. He wasn’t  _ dead _ . They needed to have hope he would return to them. “Do you feel sympathy for him, Evzen?” 

“Of course not! I just think we ought to have more decency than House Galeth.” 

“House Galeth holds the biggest military in the country, aside from the Crown’s. We can’t afford to anger them by rejecting a gift that took so much of their blood to secure.”

“The noble houses are meaningless, you and I both know that. They’ve been losing power for centuries.” He had a point. A few hundred years ago, houses like Galeth meant something. Now, they were only shadows of the grandiosity they used to be. The monarchy had swallowed the authority in the country since then. 

“Not meaningless enough,” the Empress said, with a firmness in her voice that Solace could hardly bear. She was standing outside of the room. It was hard to imagine how her father felt. “Maybe she will be the one to finally end them. Until then, this is something we have to do.” 

Evzen sighed. “Fine, but you’re telling her.” 

Solace stepped into the room. Now was as good a time as any to show herself. “Tell me what?” 

Her father jumped in his seat, but her mother only regarded her with a blank face and her hands in her lap. If she squinted, she might have seen amusement in her expression, but she had long since stopped trying to see anything but empty stoicism in the Empress. Most people, including her father, were cowed by Verity Buliere’s quiet, elegant strength. Not Solace. She could look her mother in the eye and demand to be treated as an equal. 

“How much did you hear?” asked the Empress. 

“Enough,” Solace replied. 

She gestured to a plush armchair. “Sit. Earlier this morning, I received a letter from Lord Galeth concerning a gift. He caught one of the leaders of the Odium, a man named Ascelin Saullo.” 

Solace ground her teeth. The Odium was a group of outlaws that operated across the sea, the same people who kidnapped her brother and brutalized him. They were a large organization, too. Damn near untouchable, even by her family. They ruled a large empire, yes, but an empire far away that was entrapped in its own domestic affairs. She would have hunted the Odite to extinction months ago if she had the resources. 

“They’ve had him for a few months, actually.” 

She wanted to scream. Bastards, Galeth  _ bastards _ . “Why didn’t they tell us months ago, then?” 

“Because they’ve been preparing him.” 

“Preparing him?” Solace raised an eyebrow. “You mean torture, don’t you? The Galeth tortured him.”

She nodded. “That is their way. It always has been. I’m surprised it took months, they’re usually quicker with their… prisoners. But from what I’ve been told, Saullo’s completely broken.” 

“Tell Stelson Galeth that the next time he wants to keep the capture of a criminal wanted by the crown from us, he will answer to  _ me _ , since you don’t seem disturbed at all by what’s happening in your own empire,” Solace hissed. “He has no right to a secret like that.” 

Her parents exchanged a glance. Respect in her mother’s eyes, concern in her father’s. Solace didn’t care. She didn’t give a damn what either of them thought of her. A leader of the Odite, in her country. The Galeth estate was less than thirty miles away from the palace. Saullo was a little more than a day’s ride away to the south, and had been for months. 

“What do they plan on doing with him?” she asked, already knowing the answer. 

“That’s where it becomes complicated. The slave trade is illegal in Keervan, but slavery itself is not, according to minor details in the constitution that I myself didn’t know until today,” the Empress explained. “The Galeth persuaded him to signing himself into slavery, but they can’t sell him—not that they wanted to, anyway. He’s a gift.”

Solace frowned. “A gift?” 

“For you,” the empress said, “Since you were the most affected by what they did to your brother.” 

Solace tried not to scowl.  _ Affected _ was too gentle of a word. She was devastated. Her father was too, considering the look on his face when Emmet was brought up. Her mother, not so much. Not that she could tell, anyway. No one could fucking tell when it came to her, she was damn near unreadable. 

“A gift.” She tried the word on her tongue and it snagged in her mouth like chewing on a thistle. Not only a gift, a  _ slave _ . “And what would I do with him?” 

“Anything you want, or nothing at all.” The empress stood, nodding at her husband, who followed. “I don’t care, as long as you accept him and act pleased when you do. Put him in his own damn wing and keep him as a pet, if you want, as long as you don’t kill him. Killing a gift is rude.” 

Solace tilted her head at her mother, unable to grasp the slippery truth no matter the angle. “You’re joking.” 

The empress’ face split into a rare grin for a moment—her portrait smile, not her real, crooked smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Of course I am. I find this ordeal just as absurd as you, believe me. Now, excuse us, but we have a luncheon to attend with the Keervanian bank. Maybe you should read a little, while you’re here.” 

As she watched her parents leave, she decided that was a joke as well. A tasteless one. Emmet had been the only one who enjoyed reading in their family. 

  
  


Lord Galeth didn’t demand a ceremony for this gift exchange, only a small dinner and a night of entertainment after a full day of travel to reach Orsten, the capital of Keervan. That was the first surprise of the evening. He had a taste for splendor, an addiction to it. And who better to provide a spectacular feast and ball than the crown? She suspected it was a side-effect of his family’s diminishing influence. 

The second surprise was the slave himself. 

He was handsome. Solace couldn’t deny that. Ascelin Saullo had high cheekbones, a strong jawline, a sculpted nose. She was expecting a leader of the Odium to be a ugly old man in a cage, fat from a lifetime of profiting off smuggling and murder. He wasn’t fat, ugly, or old. No, he had the body of a Odite warrior he was famed for being. 

As emaciated as he was, he was still strong. If it weren’t for the guards surrounding them, she would have been afraid that he would snap her in half. He could have been no older than twenty-five. The Galeth had obviously noticed how severely starved he was days before they set on the path to the palace. They must have tried to plump him up so he wasn’t as bony as a stray dog. It didn’t work. 

Ascelin gave the room a scan before he saw her and placed himself at her feet. Lord Galeth nodded to him, and he spoke. “Princess Solace Buliere, you’re just as beautiful as everyone told me. I’m so pleased to finally meet you.” 

“Thank you,” she managed through the lump in her throat, inches away from a man at least partially responsible for her brother’s coma. “And thank you, Uncle.” 

Solace’s maternal aunt was married to Stelson Galeth, making him her least-favorite uncle. She was seven when they were married, and even at that young age, it took two guards to drag her to the wedding. The only upside of this miserable exchange was seeing the aunt she grew up with, and her five-year-old cousin. 

Solace dismissed him. She knew her uncle wouldn’t mind. He was here for her, not for the slave. Ascelin was only a formality. 

“Bring him and his luggage to my bedroom,” she whispered to a trio of guards, realizing the implications of what she said as they left the hall. 

She stared after him for a second, then stopped. Something about him was so… sad. So reserved but desperate at the same time. She couldn’t deal with him now. When the Galeth and her aunt were gone, she could speak to him freely in the comfort of her own room, without these crawling eyes surrounding her. 

She spent the next four hours drinking too much with her uncle and trying to hide it when her aunt approached. By the end of the ordeal, her head was spinning. Or maybe her eyes were perfectly honest and the room was the one that spun on a nauseating axis. Either way, it was no way to meet Ascelin. Really, properly, meet him instead of a minute-long introduction in the ballroom. 

She decided to retreat in the garden until the guests left, to clear her head. She sat on the ledge of the reflecting pool, dipping her fingers in the water. She wet her face with it, hoping to come to her senses. At the center of the pool were statues of two gods, Ostenthe and Celiose. They stared at her, stone eyes unmoving and unforgiving. 

When Solace and Emmet were children, they spent entire afternoons hiding from their tutors here. It used to be a loud place, filled with their laughter. The garden was desolate now, aside from the crickets reminding her it was time to go. At least another hour had passed. She sighed. She was not as drunk as she thought, as she hoped to be. She couldn’t avoid facing him tonight. 

“My darling,” her aunt called from behind her. “What are you doing here alone?” 

Solace patted the spot next to her on the ledge. “Auntie Edelya. Shouldn’t you be with your husband?” 

Edelya chuckled. “Stelson is far from in control of me, my darling.” 

“Where’s Tuyon?” 

“He fell asleep a few hours ago. I sent him with my handmaidens to rest until we’re ready to leave.” Edelya drew the hem of her skirt above her ankles and climbed up the steps to the reflecting pool to sit with her. 

A gentle comfort immediately washed over her, like her aunt had wrangled all the writhing snakes out of her head and subdued them. There were times that she looked at her cousin, Tuyon, and wished that she was in his place. She wouldn’t enjoy being the son of Stelson Galeth, but to have Edelya as a mother would have outweighed all else. 

“What’s on your mind, my darling? I so rarely see you, I don’t want you to look so burdened when I do.” Edelya reached for Solace’s hand and squeezed. “Is it the slave that you’re worrying about?”

“Only a little. I’ve been thinking about Elanthine lately,” she admitted. 

Elanthine. Her name was an acidic sting between the two of them. Solace loathed her, the daughter of her mother’s long-dead brother. That was all she was to her, all she would ever be, a woman who shared her blood and name and their aunt’s love, as undeserving as she was of it. It wasn’t as simple for Edelya. When she turned against the empress and was banished for it four years ago, she was crushed, like each Buliere child was her personal responsibility and she had failed as a mother. 

She tried not to hold Edelya’s love for Elanthine against her, she really did, but she wasn’t the compromising type. No one in their family was except for the empress’ generous and forgiving younger sister. 

“Why have you been thinking about her?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose it started when I heard a rumor that she was gathering support in Jaarva a few weeks ago. I asked Mother about it and she  _ very _ bluntly dismissed me,” Solace grumbled. “I haven’t been able to ease my thoughts of it since.” 

Edelya offered her a small smile as she stroked Solace’s back. “She is gone, my darling. And if you are afraid she has plans for a second revolution, you ought to relax. Jaarva is our ally, and the Odium will never give her so much as a grain of rice because she is a Buliere, even if their common enemy is your mother. No major country on the west side of the sea will speak to her. We were wise to banish her there.” 

She sighed. “That’s exactly what Mother said.” 

“She has a point.” Edelya stood, inviting Solace to do the same. They began making a loop around the royal gardens. Some of the flowers were at the cusp of bloom after a long southern winter. “I know you don’t often listen to her, but you should. She has valuable things to say.” 

They had stopped in front of the statue garden. Solace stared at them, hoping not to show her face as she blinked back wrath. Thinking about Elanthine had that effect on her, and she suspected it always would. 

“I know,” she murmured. “But things haven’t been the same between us since… Emmet. She should have done more when he was taken, it was like she didn’t care.” 

Edelya stopped and placed her hands on Solace’s shoulders, piercing brown eyes dull in the moonlight. “She did as much as she could. Someday you’ll understand.” 

Someone called Edelya’s name from the other side of the garden. It was one of Stelson’s inner circle, stumbling from one neatly-trimmed hedge to the next. Solace vaguely recognized him, a man named Hender, who was Rosamel Galeth’s best friend and reported betrothed. Rumors were, Stelson very badly wanted his illegitimate daughter out of his hands. 

“Ah, I suppose we’ve run out of time,” sighed Edelya. 

Solace clutched her hands as the man grew impatient to keep her from leaving for another few seconds. “Promise you’ll return to visit.” 

She folded her lips into a thin line. “I will try, my darling. Stelson doesn’t approve of my travels, and Tuyon needs me.” 

“I know.” Solace held her aunt for as long as she would allow. “I’ll miss you.” 

“I’ll miss you too.” Edelya pressed a kiss to her cheek and whispered, “Now, go speak to your new… slave. I don’t agree with what the Galeth have done. I will never be one of them. We are Bulieres, and we speak for freedom. Treat him kindly, Solace. He has been through more than you will ever imagine.” 

“Like what? What did they do to him?” 

She shook her head. “I’m not sure, I was kept from seeing it. I only ever snuck to his cell to feed him in-between… sessions. He is a kind man, Solace. You’ll learn to accept him.” 

“He is an  _ Odite _ , Auntie. He is responsible for what happened to Emmet.” 

“He is much more, my darling,” she promised. “Now go, we have both run out of time.” 

She watched her aunt leave with the man, surrounded by statues of their gods. When she was gone, the headache returned, like Edelya Buliere was a gale of sea-breeze that brought clarity and comfort. How Edelya and Solace’s mother were sisters still baffled her. 

She sat at the feet of the goddess Celiose until she was certain all the guests were gone. The legends of old said that her family shared blood with the gods, but she wasn’t so sure. She was made of the same flesh of any commoner. Once the last carriage had left, she tiptoed into the palace.

He was waiting for her in her room, kneeling by her bed. “Mistress,” he greeted as she entered.  _ Mistress _ , she thought in her haze,  _ I like that more than princess _ . 

Ascelin grimaced. 

“What?” she asked. 

“May I… May I use the restroom? I’ve gone in hours,” he whined. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to complain, Mistress.” 

She considered forbidding him from going. It would just be a mess on her carpet, with nothing to show for it. She had interacted with the victims of the Galeth before, people with the dignity beat out of them until humiliation was nothing to them. “Yes, you may. My personal restroom is through that door over there.” 

He returned a few minutes later, still with that sour expression on his face. He made to kneel. 

“No. Sit,” she said. Her gift lowered himself in a chair big enough to seat a bear, eyes on the floor. He seemed so small, so weak, this former Odite warrior. “Lord Galeth tells me you were the leader of the Odium.” 

“I was one of them, Mistress.” 

She sat on her mattress, across from him. “One of them?” 

“There are many, Mistress.” He shifted nervously under her gaze. “The Odium is a large organization. I was high in the chain of command.” 

“And were you one of the leaders who decided to take my brother?” The question made him uneasy. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. His mouth hung slightly open, like he was about to reply, but couldn’t find the right words. “Answer me.” 

“I wasn’t. I swear, I wasn’t. I tried to stop them, but they wanted him, and they outnumbered me. There was nothing I could do.” 

She sighed. What was she thinking? Asking him questions like this didn’t comfort her. It only frayed her nerves, stirred her resentment. If she was annoyed, he was far worse, borderline agonizing. “Okay. Enough of this for now. It’s getting late. We should find you a place to sleep.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

“But not yet,” she decided. “Come here, let me see you.” 

He came obediently to kneel at her feet. She toyed gingerly with his hair. It was coarse and brown, beautiful like nothing she had ever seen. She traced his jaw, the hollow of his cheeks, his velvety lips. 

If it weren’t for the crisscross of scars over the expanse of his muscles, he could have posed as any of the pretty sons from a noble house. Ascelin didn’t combat her touch. He seemed to enjoy the way she tenderly mapped his face with her fingers. She didn’t imagine he was very well-loved under the care of the Galeth. He was a man desperate for warmth, searching for it in a woman who despised him. 

“Look at me,” she ordered. For the first time, she noticed that his eyes were green. 

If she struck him across the face, would he accept it? Had Stelson Galeth ground this man into a docile reminder of who he used to be? Instead of slapping him, she slipped her middle and ring fingers in his mouth, out of twisted curiosity of how far she could push him. He allowed it, peering up at her with reverence as if she was a god, and fear as if she was a monster. A monstrous god. She withdrew her hand, using it to grab a fistful of his hair and push his forehead to her shoes. Again, no resistance. 

“Will you submit to me, without question or thought?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

“And if I hurt you, will you retaliate?”

“No, Mistress.” 

Solace chuckled, a humorless huff. “They trained you well, didn’t they?” 

“They did, Mistress. They trained me to be everything you need.”

She scoffed. “I don’t remember ever saying I needed a slave. Much less a slave stolen from the Odium.”

“I—” He choked. “I’m sorry. Please, Mistress, don’t send me back to them. I won’t get in your way, I promise. I’ll launder your clothes, tidy your room, bring you your food.” The idea of being returned to the Galeth panicked him. Anyone was better than Lord Stelson and his sadistic daughter. “I am begging you, Your Highness, give me a chance. I promise I’ll be worth the trouble.” 

“Interesting,” she mused. “Stand. And strip.” 

He gave her a look. She couldn’t tell if it was confusion, horror, or nothing at all. He slipped his shirt over his head, dutifully folding it before putting it to the side. If she thought the scars on his arms were bad, his torso was marked to hell. Raised lines of a whip or cane, jagged canyons in his skin from ripped-away chunks of flesh from accidents, clean and pale slices of a blade. He toed out of his pants and shoes. His legs weren’t as badly scarred, but they weren’t pristine either. 

“Stop,” she said as he reached his underwear. He looked down again, face burning red. Perhaps he felt humiliation after all, and the Galeth hadn’t beat his pride out of him. That made him an anomaly. “You’re quite damaged for a royal gift.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I was told my worth comes from my status in the Odium, and not… not my body,” he croaked, like it pained him to say those words. 

Solace went to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. She circled him with her hand on him, to take him in. “They were wrong. Your body, this body—” she clutched his forearms, tugging him so close to her that she could feel his ragged breaths, “—has worth. Or at least, your face does.” 

He flinched violently when she seized him. 

“What? Were you expecting me to be gentle? Your kind beat my brother into a coma, and you didn’t stop it.” She grabbed his chin with her thumb and forefinger to force him to meet her eyes. He trembled, wanting to look anywhere but at her. “I will not comfort you. You don’t deserve it. My name is Solace, but I will not be your solace. Do you understand?” 

This man was more of an abused dog than a warrior. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispered, biting the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood. 

“Good. Now, put your clothes back on and ask the maids to move an extra mattress into my room. You’ll be sleeping with me. I don’t trust the people in this palace not to touch you. You’re a pretty thing,” she said. It sounded almost sincere. 

Ascelin glimpsed the kindness she was capable of. She hated him, yes, but she wouldn’t let him fall into the wrong hands. And of course she did, she had every right to hate a slave she didn’t want, a man who contributed to the destruction of her brother. But he had been around enough actors to know a good but struggling person. She was one of those people. 

Or maybe that was an act too. Maybe the princess, daughter of the conqueror empress, was just as brutal as her mother. He could only hope she wasn’t. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn’t love a politically motivated medieval road trip with your new boy toy and your best friend?

Nisa knew exactly where to find her when she was upset. Solace was in the garden again, looking over the cliff and at the ocean. Her guards stood to the side, keeping their distance as the princess preferred. 

Winter had finally receded, and she could face the sea breeze without fear of frostbite. Spring in Keervan was beautiful, but still miserably cold. She didn’t mind, the flowers were beginning to bloom. They were beautiful in the morning light. The sun had barely risen when she woke. Ascelin was still sleeping, so she left him a note. 

_ Ascelin,  _

_ Do not leave the room. Breakfast will be brought to you at 7. If I am not back by noon, ask a maid to bring you to me.  _

_ S _

Her tutors would be furious to see that she signed with just her first initial. They would, anyway, if she hadn’t fired them when she was sixteen. The whole troupe of them had annoyed her, so she had them sent away. Her mother had only chuckled while her father tried to explain why she was being irresponsible, sputtering that she needed their expertise. Solace huffed and said that she didn’t need the expertise of glorified schoolteachers. That was the day her mother hired her counselors instead. 

Nisa was one of those counselors. She shouldn’t have been, really. She was only a few years older than her, and just as stupid. She was the daughter of a housekeeper, without a specialized education, but she was her friend, and her mother had allowed it. 

The Empress had been pleased, even, something she wasn’t often. “Good,” she had said. “Protect the people you love. Your friend will benefit from the salary of a royal counsel. But next time, make friends who are more important than a servant.”

Of course, Solace didn’t listen to that last part. She made friends with whoever was unfortunate enough to interest her. 

“You’re awake early, Your Highness,” Nisa noted. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Solace patted the railing, inviting her friend to stand beside her. She didn’t mention the slight hangover she suffered from after spending an evening with her indulgent uncle Galeth. She had spent a summer with the Galeth when she was sixteen. She left with a stronger disgust for them than ever, and a strong tolerance for alcohol. “Come, enjoy the ocean with me.” 

“We aren’t enjoying it, Your Highness,” she pointed out. “We’re only looking at it.” 

“Well, we can’t very well jump in, can we? Assuming we survive the fall from this cliff, my father will lose his mind, send the entire fleet after me. And my mother will just watch, maybe praise me if I don’t drown.” 

“She is not a bad person, Solace. You shouldn’t speak of the Empress that way. Someone might hear.” 

“No, she’s not,” she agreed. “Just a bad mother. And I’m not afraid. It’s only you and I here, excluding them.” She nodded to the four guards standing a respectful distance away. Solace smiled, a sad, contorted grin. “Besides, what can she do to me? I’m her only heir.” 

“… Good point.” 

They stood there for a few minutes, appreciating each other’s company. They didn’t get moments like this anymore. Solace was the heir to the empire. Her time was limited. 

“I saw the Odite last night,” Nisa hazarded. “He’s…”

“Pretty?” Solace supplied. “Yes, I’ve noticed.” 

“I was going to say fascinating,” she corrected. “But yes, he’s pretty. I expected a—”

“Fat old man? Me too.” 

“Your Highness, if you will  _ please stop _ interrupting me,” she griped. “But yes, you’re right. Where is he, by the way?” 

“I left him in my room.” 

“He sleeps in your room?” Nisa demanded. 

Solace snorted. She enjoyed provoking her more than she should. “Where else ought I to keep him?” 

“In his own suite! Or a regular room. Even a closet would be better than keeping him with you. What will people think?” 

She shrugged. “They’ll think whatever they want. And they’ll say whatever they want. But I’ll hang them.” 

Nisa cocked her head. “You’re joking.” 

“Of course I’m joking,” Solace admonished, remembering what her mother said yesterday that caused her to react the same way. Maybe she was a little too much like her, if her best friend had to question whether if she was serious. “But you’re right. It’s not exactly a good image, fucking the enemy.” 

“You’re not though,” she yelped, cringing at Solace’s language. “Right?” 

“Obviously not. Who do you take me for?” 

“Well,” she ventured, “You are a young woman, and you have needs—” 

“Oh, enough of that. You’re beginning to sound like my father.” 

Nisa turned to look at someone behind them. “Speaking of your father, I think he wants to see you.” 

The consort stood at the far side of the garden, waiting patiently. That was her father, a quiet shadow on the wall. Never speaking out of turn, or bringing up his opinion. 

Emmet was like him. He swallowed his complaints, quietly enduring what Solace would erupt over. Her brother was only two years younger than her, more of a friend than a sibling. He was a point of balance for her, an anchor. He was better at checking her impulses than her counselors, better than her friends, better than herself. When their mother announced that she would be sending them on a journey to meet the leaders of the world before they came of age, Solace fought with her for days before the Empress showed her fangs and forcibly ended her complaints. Privately, he admitted he didn’t want to go either, but he didn’t resist. Solace wished he had. Maybe he would be okay today if he did. 

Then again, maybe not. If Solace was strong willed, her mother was a force to be feared by the universe. 

She joined her father. “Do you need anything?” 

“Your mother wants you in her study in the next ten minutes. She didn’t tell me why.”

“And she asked you to find me?” Solace teased. “What are our servants for?” 

“I wasn’t doing anything at the moment, thought I would make myself useful,” he replied. 

Solace bid him goodbye and called her guards to her side, leaving the garden. 

Her father didn't tell her much about his life before he married the then-princess while she was on her conquering rampage through the countryside, only that he was the son of farmers who died during a famine and was sent to live with a carpenter in return for free labor. There wasn’t much else to be said, she supposed. They met when he enlisted in her army. Apparently, she took one look at his face during a military march and decided to take him with her. He wasn’t suited to be a killer anyway. 

She was a calculating person, obsessed with making the right choice to consolidate power. Her father must have been a remarkable man, to make the warrior princess ignore her diplomatic nature.

Solace sometimes wondered if he even wanted to marry her. Maybe he wanted to be something other than the gentle and silent husband of the most powerful woman on the continent, wearing the golden collar while she wore the golden crown. He loved his wife now, but it was the kind of love that was built over the span of decades. It wasn’t as if he had the option of rejecting her, even if he loathed her. Whatever a Buliere princess wanted was hers. It just happened to be a person in the case of her mother and father. 

Could she roam the city for an afternoon and come back with a pretty man hanging off her side? Maybe. There were certainly droves of people willing to marry her because of her wealth alone, beauty aside. 

_ Ah, I’m vain today _ , she smiled to herself. Would anyone give her more than a lustful passing glance if it weren’t for her status? Probably not. Would the Galeth have stolen Ascelin away and tortured him into a submissive pet of a man if it weren’t for his status? Again, probably not. 

Solace sighed, she didn’t want to think about him. She quickened her pace to her mother’s study, but stopped when she passed her bedroom. Just one look, and she would be going. 

“Give me a minute,” she said to her guards. 

She ducked into her room, accompanied by only one guard. The woman entered the room first and surveyed it before she allowed her in, in case an ambush was waiting for her. That was unlikely, considering she had a man sleeping in her room like a full time guard. Maybe he was useful for something after all.

All throughout the night, she had been woken by his whimpering. He sounded like a dying puppy. Some inherent altruism in her begged her to go to him, to soothe him, and she had ignored it. She didn’t allow herself to feel empathy for him, an Odite warrior reduced to a plaything. He was undeserving of it. 

He looked peaceful now, as the sun filtered through the curtains and the palace woke around him. 

“Let us be alone,” she said to the guard. When she was gone, Solace crouched down so their faces were level. She found herself wishing she could see his eyes. They were fern green, dazzling in the right light. They resembled the emeralds on her mother’s crown, on her father’s collar. 

She dragged the thick comforter over him. He had kicked it aside in his nightmares. The night before, the maids dragged a thin mattress and a ratty blanket into her room. She had the dusty old things removed solely because she didn’t like the sight of them. Not… not because she wanted to keep him warm during the blooming spring. 

Oh, what was she thinking? He was only a man, she couldn’t suppress her pity for him. She was her father’s daughter, after all. Any child of his was the benevolent type, as dangerous as that could be. 

“Oh, what am I going to do with you?” Solace groaned. 

She left her room before she woke him, passing her still unread note, folded neatly on her desk. Her mother’s study wasn’t too far. Sometimes, she could hear her conversations with her retinue late into the night. She had moved to be closer to the nursery when Solace was born, with Emmet following a couple of years later. Whatever motherly instincts drove her to do that had faded since then, or maybe they were always there, but she ignored them, just like Solace was ignoring her compassion. Either way, she never bothered to move back. The decadent study hall was an art storage room now, and the Empress of Keervan worked in a glorified bedroom. 

“Your Grace,” she greeted. 

“There you are. Sit. I have a proposal for you.” 

She held her breath and sat, hoping it wasn’t a  _ proposal _ proposal. 

“You’re twenty-one now. I was married when I was twenty-two,” she began. So it was a marriage proposal. “But before I was, my father sent me around Keervan to meet the noble houses, as is Keervanian tradition.” 

“You want to send me on a tour to meet suitors?” Solace interrupted. “Absolutely not. Don’t you remember what happened last time?” 

“Do not use that tone with me,” Empress Verity hissed. “It will be different this time. You will have proper protection, an army bigger than a small country’s army, six thousand men to escort and protect you. No one will touch you, no one will even dare.” 

“The countrymen want us dead after your…”  _ Bloodbath wars, subjugation of smaller states, dictatorship over the empire _ , she wanted to say. “Conquest.” 

“Then it’s time for you to introduce yourself to the people you’ll rule one day. Make them love you, and you’ll never be afraid. But make sure to intimidate the nobles, give them nothing. If you do it right, they’ll be completely powerless by the end of your rule.” 

Solace made a face. “So it’s not a search for a husband?”

“Not technically. I won’t force you to marry anyone. However, I’ll be very pleased if you come home in a few months with a handsome, personable commoner.” 

That took her by surprise. She blinked at her, expecting this specter of the Empress to disappear if she closed her eyes. “What?” 

“If my parents forced me to marry some young son of a lord while they were still alive, I wouldn’t have your father, or you, or your brother.”  _ But you don’t have him _ , Solace thought.  _ Not the way he used to be _ . “I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t give you that same freedom, wouldn’t I?” 

“Yes,” she said slowly. “You would, but… a well-matched marriage would benefit the Buliere dynasty. Wouldn’t you be the strongest advocate for that?” 

The Empress shook her head and leaned back in her seat. “A noble husband wouldn’t be of any use to you, not after what I’m going to do to them. Marrying a noble will be worse for you, if I’m honest. He will hate you for being my daughter, and the commoners won’t be happy either. They abhor the aristocracy as much as I do. The only reason they haven’t risen up against me is because your father is one of their own.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration. The commoners didn’t disapprove of her as much as she thought. The country was flourishing after twenty-five years of her rule. But she had watched her mother, father, and brother die in front of her because of the unhappy populace, she would have the fears of a hated woman until the day she died as well. 

Solace narrowed her eyes, hesitant to ask. “What are you going to do?” 

“What my father started. The nobility do nothing for Keervan. They haven’t collected taxes in decades, they live off my money, and their armies are more of a threat to us than our enemies. I’m going to destroy them.”

“Violently?”

“If the need arises, yes. I am still the conqueror I was in my youth. And don’t look at me like that. I won’t feel guilty about it. They assassinated your grandparents, Solace.”

“And they will assassinate  _ you _ . They killed him when he tried to do what you’re doing now.” 

The Empress smiled. “You’re smarter than you seem. You get your anger from your grandfather. He was never able to control it, control it truly. But if you do, you’ll make a capable empress. Maybe better than me.” 

“You want me to be an empress in a kingdom with no nobles. How will I control all our land? The empire has doubled in the past fifty years, and I am only one person.” Solace crossed her arms. “The nobles put down rebellions in their provinces.” 

“They do it poorly and sloppily. They leave resentment, room for more revolt. You will not. You will destroy uprisings quickly and cleanly.  _ If _ they revolt, anyway. Their issues are with the noble houses that profit off of them with nothing to give them in return. The commoners will be grateful to our entire family when they are gone.” The Empress gave her a wicked smirk. “I am too powerful for them to speak against me, and so are you. Don’t be afraid of them, not as long as you can defeat them. Bring home a handsome commoner, find weaknesses in the aristocracy. Now, go pack your things. I want you on the road by sunset.” 

She stood abruptly, swelling with frustration. “You want me gone  _ today _ ? You didn’t warn me because you knew I’d oppose it,” she accused. 

The Empress admitted it easily enough. “That’s right, and I’ve clearly made the right choice.” 

She clenched her jaw, furious, and bared her teeth. Her mother stared at her coolly. She must have looked like an angry puppy in comparison to a wolf, powerless to her mother’s will, and she hated it. She fantasized never leaving the palace again after what happened to her brother. Her family was here. Her friends were here. What if Emmet woke while she was gone? She was being shipped away like a child to boarding school. It was humiliating. And the worst part was, she wasn’t a girl anymore, and she knew her mother was doing the right thing, the smart thing for the empire. 

“What are you hiding?” Solace demanded. “I am not a child, I know you want me gone because you’re planning something.” 

She grinned. “Like I said, you’re smarter than you seemed. But not smart enough to realize that I won’t tell you.” 

Solace left the study before she punched the Empress of Keervan in the face. 

  
  


“She’s doing this for your sake, you know,” Imperial Consort Evzen reminded his daughter while they watched the servants gather her things. “She doesn’t want to let you go.” 

She scoffed. “She doesn’t act like it.” 

“She’s terrified, after what happened to Emmet. But this will make your reign easier. The greater number of friends you have, the safer you will be.” He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to his side. “She loves you, like any mother loves her daughter. She loves you more than you could know.” 

“Doesn’t act like it,” she repeated.

“She… she has trouble showing it,” he conceded. “But she does. Don’t leave hating her. You won’t see her for many months. Say a proper goodbye.” 

“I don’t hate her. I hate this.” She gestured to the line of carriages waiting outside, to the busy servants with armfuls of her things. “I don’t want to go. I know I’m behaving like a stubborn child but…” Her voice dropped to a defeated murmur. “What if he wakes up, and I’m not there? It’s not likely after so long, but it could happen. I have hope. I want to be here with him.” 

He smiled. His daughter was so much like him, and it filled him with pride. She was difficult, yes, but she was his wife’s daughter, and that much was to be expected. “You’re not being a stubborn child. You haven’t been since Elanthine’s revolution. You’re doing something you don’t want to because it’s right. Duty over comfort. That’s the kind of sacrifice that makes a good empress.”

She deflated, like a little encouragement was what she needed to dissipate the tension eating at her. She didn’t get enough of it, since everyone excepted the heir to be an unmovable stone instead of a twenty-one year-old woman. “Thank you.” 

He nodded. “Now go. Your, uh… Ascelin seems to be a little lonely. You should be kind to him. There’s no point in hating him. He’s been through hell, from what I’ve heard about the Galeth.” 

“That’s exactly what Edelya said to me last night.” 

“Your aunt is an intelligent woman. I was hesitant to welcome him into our home yesterday, knowing your mother’s plans for you. It seemed like poor timing. But maybe he’ll keep you company, take care of you when I can't.” 

Solace blinked. “You knew that she was going to send me away?” 

“Well… yes. Don’t be angry with me, please. There was nothing I could do.” 

His daughter sighed and turned away silently to join her slave. 

He was standing in the corner, trying to merge with the walls to avoid the sneers the housekeepers gave him. He dropped to his knees and kept his gaze down, trying not to shake. The way she looked at him last night… that was hunger. She wanted to hurt him. And when she made him strip, maybe it was to test his devotion, but it could have also been lust. No, it was  _ definitely _ lust. The sight of his scars must have disgusted her enough to spare him. 

That mercy wouldn’t last forever, and when she took him, would she be kind? He shuddered, hoping she wasn’t like Stelson Galeth’s daughter, who cackled in his ear when he pleaded for her to stop. Fucking him wasn’t enough for Rosamel, she hurt him while she did it, called him a dirty slut while she pinned him to the wall by his neck. 

Would Solace Buliere be like her? They were cousins, if he remembered correctly. Maybe sadism ran in their blood. Her mother consumed entire kingdoms by killing anyone who opposed her. If she was like her, she would be worse than Rosamel Galeth. Then again, her father was a kind and decent man. When he found him in her room, he asked if she had harmed him. He told him she didn’t, and he was relieved for him, a slave and an Odite. He could only hope she was like him. 

“Have you packed your things?” 

“Yes, Mistress. I never had the chance to unpack.” 

Solace felt a pang of sadness for this man, who couldn’t even take his clothes out of his bags before he was moved again. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, tenderly this time. She was too rough on him last night. The alcohol had made her aggressive, that and being in the same room as an Odite. 

He flinched away from her touch. She withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her chest. “Good. We’re almost ready to go. Stay here for a moment while I say my goodbyes.”

“Yes, Mistress.” 

She passed her counselors, averting her eyes to the pavement to avoid looking at them. She had been given the choice in whether or not to bring them on her five-month tour through the empire. Of course, she had decided not to. From the looks on their faces, they were displeased with it. They might have even counseled against it, if she had allowed them to speak. 

Other than her elite guard, her staff, and the army of six thousand, the only people who would be accompanying her was her inner circle. It was horribly small for the heir to the empire, only Nisa, her commander-of-guard, Jasper, and her steward, Gamel. The empress had insisted she bring the royal doctor, Jorin Kipling, but she didn’t consider herself very close to him. 

Once, her retinue had also included her betrothed and his four sisters, but they were ghosts in the wind now, for all she cared. 

Solace didn’t have very much time to say her goodbyes. She went first to her brother.

He laid in a bed in a room at the top of a tower so tall she was breathless at the end. He was exactly as she left him. Curly hair messy and tangled, skin pale as death, body thinner day by day. Scars crawled across his back, not as many as Ascelin, but just as disturbing. Corporal punishment was a signature of the Odium, and there was nothing that warranted punishment more than being the son of Verity Buliere.

They had been passing through the Odium’s territory to a friendly kingdom when they abducted him. Emmet’s dog, a retired hunting hound named Duckling of all things, discovered one of the Odite as they watched the Imperial convoy. She ran into the darkness, and Emmet gave chase. They slit the old dog’s neck and took the prince. 

Duckling was eleven years old. They shouldn’t have brought her in the first place. Maybe if they didn’t, he would be okay. Maybe if Solace kept a better hold of her, he would be okay. Maybe if she was stubborn enough to stop them from going in the first place, they would be okay. 

She found herself spiraling into the hypothetical more and more often. Now, she was heading into a trip that resembled the first too much for her liking. Without him, this time. She couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered. “But I’ll be back before you know it.” 

She left without saying anything else. She couldn’t say anything else without sobbing over his empty body. There wasn’t enough time to cry, there never was. Solace kissed his forehead and descended back to the courtyard. 

Her mother was next. She stood next to her father, in front of the carriages. He stepped out of the way as she approached to give them privacy. 

“Father told me to say goodbye.” 

Solace nearly leapt out of her body in shock when her mother put her arms around her and held her. She hadn’t done that in years, but ever since Emmet, she had been gradually warming up to her. “Stay safe. Don’t be afraid of the nobles. They’ll be gone within a hundred years if we’re careful. Remember—”

“Find a commoner to marry, search for weaknesses in the lords,” she summarized. 

“Good, and make them love you.” 

Her father chimed in from a distance. “They already do!” 

Both of them laughed, a foreign feeling, but Solace appreciated it. She would try to laugh with her mother more in five months when she returned, if she let her. Her father joined them again, waving a guard over, who led a silver mare toward them. 

“A farewell gift,” he explained. “For the parade, and your journey. Her name is Smoke, I chose her myself.”

Her mother shot her father a look. 

“With your help of course, darling.” He kissed her cheek, and the empress rolled her eyes, abated. Solace wrinkled her nose and turned away. 

“Smoke,” she echoed. She clutched the horn of the saddle and pushed her foot on a stirrup to hoist herself on the beast. “I like it. Thank you, she’s beautiful.” 

”Good luck!” He bid as she rode Smoke in a circle in the courtyard. “And goodbye!”

Solace waved to her parents and headed toward Ascelin, still in the corner where she abandoned him. “It's time to go. Get your bag, I’m taking you to your carriage.” She looked down at his expectant face. ”Oh, you're walking. Everyone in this palace can see us.” 

Ascelin nodded, cursing himself for thinking anything else. Of course she would withhold affection. She didn't have any for him in the first place. He jogged after her, swinging his case of clothes. She pointed to the second carriage in the convoy. There was one for each person, and hers was in the middle.

The door opened, inside was a young woman with black hair and big eyes. “What do you need? Your Highness?”

“This is Nisa, my advisor. Ascelin, you're sitting with her until the parade is over and we're out of the city. Then you'll be in my carriage with me.” 

Nisa gave her a grimace, something between disgust and confusion. “You're taking him with us?”

”I’m not leaving him for five months, that would be rude. He's a gift.”

The way they were taking around him as if he wasn’t even there made his face grow hot. 

“In that case, Your Highness, you can charge him with me. I'll keep him safe.”

His mistress rode off without another word. She disappeared to the front of the parade on her elegant horse. He thought of his own horse. The other council members would have likely sold him by now if they were still alive. The thought made him bury his head in his palms to avoid crying in front of the stranger. Not for the horse, but for his friends, his home. He had warned them, he knew the Keervanians would bring their full fury upon them if they hurt the prince. No one listened. 

He was closer to the prince than most, sneaking into his cell to tend to his wounds and feed him. When he had the strength to speak, he told him the stories of the Keervanian gods. 

Nisa noticed Ascelin’s expression. “What's the matter? She's not cruel to you, is she? I'll have a word with her if she is.” 

“No, no, My Lady.” He was telling the truth. She wasn't cruel, but she wasn't kind either. 

The carriages began to move. The palace was removed from the rest of Orsten, almost a city of its own, but he could hear the commoners from here. 

He leaned his forehead on the window and watched her ride through the bumpy country paths into the metropolis. It was enormous by all standards, and it appeared that everyone who lived there had come to bid her goodbye. A line of guards held the masses back, but he didn't think they would hurt her even if they could. They tossed flowers in her direction, shouted her name like cries to a god. She accepted their zeal with a grace he had never seen before. 

”She's a natural,” Nisa remarked, able to hear his thoughts. 

”She is, My Lady.” 

She turned to him, taking his hand in hers slowly, as if she knew he would be frightened if she didn't. “Don’t be afraid of her. She’s kind at heart, just… mourning for her brother. They were closer than any set of siblings I've ever encountered. She hasn't taken it well.”

“She blames me. I tried to stop them, I promise I did. But I don't think she believes me. I don't think she wants to, ” he admitted. He trusted this woman. She reminded him of Solace’s father. 

“She blames everyone,” Nisa assured. “You may endure worse than the rest of us, but if she hurts you, come find me.” 

He nodded. “I hope I won't need to, My Lady, but thank you.” Ascelin overflowed with relief. That disgust he saw in her face earlier wasn’t disgust at all, it was pity. He had one friend in this place, and that was all he needed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR: Evzen is the best dad, Nisa is a decent person, Empress is scared to show her love, Ascelin is scared in general, Solace is conflicted as always, I wrote this in 6 hours instead of sleeping so sorry of the pacing is off and it’s a little too dialogue heavy. 
> 
> PS: How do you pronounce Ascelin in your heads?


	3. Chapter 3

Solace met Ascelin in front of Nisa’s carriage. Considerate as he was, he was waiting for her before she even dismounted Smoke. The stablemaster took the mare. She was a fine horse, well-bred and well trained, easily able to handle the pressing crowd of the parade. Solace would have to send a letter to her father later, to properly thank him. She suspected the stablemaster would as well. The old man already adored Smoke. 

“Come, Ascelin. We’re going to our carriage,” she said. He was at her side in an instant. “And you, Nisa. Walk us there.” 

Ascelin knew his place. He trailed a humble distance behind them while his mistress and her advisor spoke. 

”I'm impressed she planned an entire parade and tour without alerting me to it,” she commented. 

Nisa shifted apprehensively. “Yes, Your Highness. It was quite the feat.” 

“So she told you,” Solace arraigned. After almost two decades as best friends, she recognized all of her tells. “And you didn’t think to warn me? I should have you put to death. You’re my counselor, not hers. ”

Ascelin scrutinized her face. She couldn't have been serious, but her expression gave nothing away. He was uneasy, being incapable of reading her. He was a shrewd man. His judgment of character was what catapulted him so high into the ranks of the Odium. 

“Her Grace forbade it, Your Highness. She said in no uncertain terms that she would dismiss me, among other, more painful things, if I did. I wanted to, I swear.” Nisa struggled to keep pace with the princess, who took long, elegant strides. “Sometimes I think you know me too well. I can’t hide anything from you.” 

“You clearly can. If she threatens you again, come to me. I’ll kick her—” 

“Enough!” Nisa wheezed, coughing into her arm to hide her laugh. “Don’t say things like that, Your Highness, and for the sake of all of us,  _ please  _ stop pushing her. She may make exceptions for you, but she’s still the woman who overpowered half the continent.” 

That was the exact moment his mistress’ mood fouled. 

“She didn’t overpower the Odium after what they did to Emmet. She waited for a noble house to do it for her. The Galeth even gave  _ me  _ their little prize, not her. Everyone knows she doesn’t care.” 

“That’s not true, Solace. She does. But she’s not in a position to show weakness.”

“No, she isn’t,” Solace snapped. Which is why I expected her to show strength. Her full strength. Not this… this acceptance! Ascelin, come. This one’s ours.” 

He scuttered to her quickly, tucking his hands in his pockets. He was assigned a simple jacket to keep away the cold, but it wasn’t enough for someone accustomed to heat as he was. 

Bringing children to the north to see snow when they turned five was an age-old tradition in the country of his birth, a desert plain devoured by the Odium’s influence. His parents didn’t bother with tradition. They didn’t care. The first time he saw snow was on a ship, sailing from the Odium to Keervan after the Galeth invasion. He was tied to the mast, shivering in the gentle torrent. He had watched each flake float by, eyes darting back and forth as he lost track of them. 

Once, he had hoped to have children of his own to show the world. He thought he would be a good father and give what his parents never gave him. That dream was gone. 

Ascelin helped his mistress into the carriage, climbing in after her. He sat across from her, knees bumping hers as they began to move. The silence poisoned the air, but he knew better than to speak out of turn. 

“You’re not good with the cold, are you? You’re shaking,” she noticed, eyes soft with pity. She reached under the seat and pulled a blanket over his lap. He sucked in his bottom lip and ducked his head, uncertain about the affection she had withheld up until then. 

“Thank you, Mistress,” he whispered. 

She smiled softly when he kept shivering. He was beautiful, like a downy baby bird falling out of its nest might be. Poetic in a tragic way. “Come, sit next to me.” He faltered but obeyed, looking at her like she was about to eat him. She put her arm around him, running her hands up and down the scars on his ribs. He tensed like an injured dog. “How often did the Odite whip you?” 

“Often, Mistress, whenever I stole food for the new recruits.” He paused. “Well, they weren’t recruits. They weren’t there voluntarily. All of us were stolen from our families.” 

_ If Emmet wasn’t a prince, he would have been one of them,  _ Solace realized. She squeezed her slave harder than she intended while she imagined him starved and scourged, letting go when she was about to pierce his skin with her nails. She didn’t want to be the cause of another set of scars on this man’s body. She brought her hand up, away from the tangle of scars. 

“You put yourself in danger for them?” 

He unwound a little as she stroked his hair. “It was the right thing to do, Mistress.” 

She frowned. “How did you ascend so high into the Odium if you were exposed as a thief?” 

“Everyone in the Odium is a thief, Mistress, or a killer, or a rapist. Some of us were stronger than the others. I fought until I was safe.” 

“You fought your way into the elite?” 

“I did, Mistress. Strength is respect in the Odium.”

She twirled his hair around her finger, tugging absentmindedly at his scalp. Solace was gentler than she had been last night, now that she was sober and less on edge. “The empire was in ruins when my mother assumed the crown from her father after his assasination. She reclaimed everything that was ours and more within ten years of her coronation by killing everyone that stole from our family. Strength is respect everywhere.” 

“Yes, Mistress,” he agreed. 

A scream of, “GET HER HIGHNESS! STOP THE CARRIAGES!” startled them both. She withdrew her arm, charging out of the carriage before it even stopped. Ascelin followed quickly, instincts driving him not to wait for permission. 

“What happened?” his mistress demanded. 

A hysterical woman fell into her, grappling at the princess. She was one of the few housekeepers she brought. There were inns along the road, and she didn’t need many staff. The bulk of her entourage were soldiers. “It’s my son,” the woman wailed. “He fell into the river!” 

“Stay here,” she ordered, turning to her steward, who had just skidded to a stop in front of her. Her commander-of-guard, Jasper, followed closely behind. “Gamel, do you know where he is?” 

“Maybe you should stay behind, Your Highness.” He gasped for breath. “I’m looking for a bucket. Maybe we can haul him out and—”

“That’s ridiculous,” Solace snapped. “If you were my advisor, I would throw you into the river and let you find him yourself. You should be glad you only handle my appointments. Now, take me to him before we waste any more time.” 

Her official advisor emerged from her carriage, drawn by the noise. “Your Highness?” Nisa surveyed the scene. 

“Stay here, comfort her.” Solace pointed to the panicked mother. She turned to her slave, her steward, and her commander. “Let’s go.” 

The river wasn’t far, only a few minutes’ walk, but it was hidden in a thick grove. The boy must have wandered off, bored with the slow pace of the convoy. Solace nearly careened off the canyon, the same one he had fallen down. The drop was concealed by foliage that seemed to extend the earth. 

“What's his name? Where is he?”

“Wren, Your Highness,” answered a soldier on the scene. “On that boulder by the falls. Right there, you see? He must’a been swept over there by the current.”

A tumbling waterfall roared just a few feet away from the boy. If it weren't for the mossy little island in the river, he would have been carried away by it. The cliff they stood on was part of a jagged canyon with rocks capable of splitting skulls. It wasn’t particularly deep, but a fall like that was almost guaranteed to kill someone. Wren was alive, but scratched terribly. Solace could see the blood in the ice from her perch across the river. 

“How long has he been there?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes?” the soldier estimated. “He was with another boy who ran to get help.”

She chewed her lip. The situation was dire and he didn’t look good. “Have you sent in a rescue?” 

“We tried, Your Highness. We can’t see anything because of the plants on the sides of the cliff. It’s not safe. One of us lost her footing and cut her leg open on the rocks, almost to the bone.” 

Ascelin cleared his throat. “Mistress, will you let me try? I’m not afraid to be cut.” 

Jasper cleared his throat. “You’ll be shredded on that cliff-face. It’s almost dark, and it’s icy.” 

“Absolutely not,” she agreed. “You’re too weak to try something like that right now, considering you belonged to the Galeth yesterday.” 

Defiance burned in his eyes. “That’s not true. Don’t you  _ dare  _ say that. I will never be weak, no amount of starvation or torture will change that. Let me go, we don’t have time.” 

She regarded him slowly. Apparently, the Galeth hadn’t tortured his resilience out of him. He knew she could do anything she wanted to him, and he opposed her regardless. He was right, he wasn’t weak. 

“Go,” she allowed, voice low and murderous. 

The soldiers secured a harness around his body and began lowering him down to the river. She lost sight of him in the twisted plants but the rope he was attached to was taut and wobbling, and she heard his restrained yelps as the rocks and thorns cut him. She knew he was still there. 

Her eyes found him again as he waded through the water. It was shallow, only up to his waist, but the current was overpowering. He used the smooth boulders jutting out into the air to steady himself, but they were icy and slippery, and she felt her heart leap to her throat. 

Water stung Ascelin’s eyes but he kept them open, unable to wipe them without letting go of the boulders. He was beginning to lose his toes to numbness. It was only a matter of time before he couldn’t move at all. 

He crawled diagonally across the river, reaching the boulder the boy was perched on. His clothes were frozen into fabric sheets, his lips blue and face pale. 

“Wren!” Ascelin exclaimed.

He was young, six or seven, judging by his distinct lack of front teeth. Blond curls were frozen to his forehead, white with frost. He looked at his rescuer wearily and pawed at his chest. “I-It’s so cold.”

“I know, Wren. Grab onto me, little bird. You’re going to be okay. I’m going to bring you back to your mother. Don’t let go of me.” 

He weakly clung on to him, and Ascelin was reminded of a few years ago, when he smuggled an injured recruit out of an Odite-controlled town in the dead of night to be reunited with his family as he died. He had carried him on his back through ten miles of desert during the night. He had died an hour before he reached his childood home, and Ascelin delivered a body instead. His face haunted him. All of the children he couldn’t save did. 

He struggled against the current that crashed onto him. The water was heavy as lead, but so much colder. His muscles screamed like a thousand icy shards of glass were lodged in his skin. 

He almost lost his grip on Wren as he passed a bend in the current. “Hang on. Please, hang on,” he urged as he began to shake violently. The boy could only whimper. If they slipped, Wren would topple over the waterfall. He wasn’t tied to the line like he was. 

He made his way across the river. It was easier this time, with the soldiers pulling them by the rope attached to his waist. What was difficult was the return to the top of the canyon. 

The canyon was too dense with rotting roots, too uneven with harsh edges to climb with a boy in his arms. His mistress wasn’t letting him even try. 

“Stay down there!” she called to him. She couldn’t risk him falling. Her voice carried and echoed through the gorge. “You,” she turned to face the soldiers, “are going to join him on the embankment and help him up or I will personally discharge all of you and have you answer to my mother.” 

To no one’s surprise, they scrambled to follow her orders. The threat of the Empress’ fury was worse than being sliced open on a cliff-face. 

“You speak like Verity,” Gamel groused. He was one of her mother’s oldest friends, he fought in her wars and killed in her name. Now, he was an old man with the title of steward solely because she could stop him from drinking himself to death if her daughter kept him on a leash. “What do they call her now? Her Imperial Grace? Bah, she never liked that pompous bullshit during the wars.”

Jasper snorted, bringing his hand up to his mouth to fake a cough to hide his smile. 

“Her Imperial Grace is the reason I haven’t fired you many twenty times over. I keep you as my steward as a favor to her. You’re her friend, not mine.” 

Well, she was decently fond of him, actually. He was something of an uncle to her and Emmet when they were younger, and he had a legitimate job at the palace as court constable. His wife was a slight woman, always sick and unable to have children. So the two of them were a substitute. 

After his wife died, he disappeared without bothering to say goodbye to them. Then he returned five years later to ask for a position in the staff. He was out of money after living in a single-room by the ocean for years, drinking himself numb while Jasper was left to watch over them alone. If Gamel was an uncle to her, Jasper was her second father. 

Years ago, Solace had been glad to have Gamel back and proud to have her first steward. Now, she was annoyed more than anything. 

“Damn,” he grumbled. “You’re as cold as her too. You’ve changed, you know, since—” He had the good judgment not to finish the sentence, but she knew what he was about to say.  _ Since Emmet. _

He wasn’t the only one to say that. She was optimistic and light-hearted before. Still as impatient and crass, but not so cynical, not so bitter. No one was ever under the illusion that she was a bubbly princess, but she was better than the twisted and detached woman she had become. 

“Here they are,” said Jasper. 

Wren was the first to be lifted up. He was limp and cold in the arms of a soldier. Ascelin was next, stumbling over the ledge and toward her. She caught him as he collapsed. The laundresses would be furious with her, letting a filthy and bloody man fall on her dress. It was the same one she wore during the parade, a low-necked paneled red gown that glittered with wealth. She hadn’t had the time to put on anything else. 

“Warm the boy up and take him to Doctor Kipling. Bring me a set of dry clothes for Ascelin and the biggest towel you can find.” 

One of the soldiers offered her a towel immediately. She helped Ascelin out of his wet shirt, billowing it over him. It was rough and worn, but better than his dripping clothes. She made sure to cover him, keep his bare skin from the sight of what must have been twenty soldiers. What a useless bunch. 

“Your pants, too,” she decided. “Take them off. You’ll freeze in them.” 

Last night, she was demanding he do the same thing under dramatically different circumstances. She didn’t stop him at his underthings this time. 

“Everyone, back to camp!” The officer in command had the decency to order. Solace smiled at her, a woman named Cormina, if she remembered.

They vacated the grove quickly, eager to be away from the fuss and Ascelin’s exposed body. One of them left a clean uniform and coat at her feet, green and gold, the Keervan colors. The irony of an Odite in Keervan military uniform didn’t escape her. 

She dressed him while he trembled. “I’m impressed with you.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” he murmured, a perfect slave once again. “I’m sorry for shouting at you. I didn’t mean to. I just… I saw him and I knew he would die if we hesitated.” 

“You are forgiven,” she said immediately. “But let me warn you, if you speak to me like that again, I won’t be lenient. I told you last night I have no need for a slave. I have even less for an insubordinate one.” 

He dropped to his knees and put his forehead on her now soaked shoes. “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you.” 

“And I’m sorry,” she added, “For doubting you. I know your strength now. I won’t question it again.” 

“You weren’t wrong to,” Ascelin assured. “Don’t humble yourself for me, Your Highness.” 

She scoffed, amused. “Believe me, it will be better if you accept my apology. I’m a Buliere, we don’t apologize all that often.” She gave him a grin that made his heart clench in fear and appetence all at once. 

His mistress walked him to the seventh carriage out of twenty. He assumed it was the doctor’s. It was hardly large enough to house a doctor’s equipment, though. The man opened the door before she could even knock. 

“Ah, Your Highness,” he greeted. “Here for help with your boy? I heard he was cut up on his way into a half-frozen river.” 

_ I am not a boy _ , Ascelin thought.  _ Hers, yes, but not a boy.  _

“No, Kipling, I can manage his injuries on my own. I only need bandages and a salve.”

The doctor shrugged. “Well, I suppose you’re no stranger to flesh wounds and hypothermia, but are you sure you don’t want my expertise? I wouldn’t be inconvenienced. My other patient is resting right now. The boy is recovering well.”

Nisa poked her head out from the carriage, where she was keeping Wren’s mother company while they waited for him to recover enough to stand on his own. “You should let him, Your Highness. He won’t hurt him.” 

His mistress looked from her friends to Ascelin, a possessive heat burning in her face. She was oddly protective of him, for someone who didn’t want him. Last night, he slept in her room because she didn’t trust the royal staff not to hurt him. This afternoon, she enlisted her advisor to supervise him in her carriage while she led the parade. Less than an hour ago, she almost forbade him from saving Wren. And now, she hesitated to turn him over to a doctor when he was dripping blood and cold as death. 

“Okay,” she relented. “Examine him, suture the deeper wo-unds. I’ll clean and dress the others.” 

Thirty minutes later, it was evident that she had made the right decision. Four stitches held his skin together on his back, seven on his thigh, five under his ribs. He clenched his teeth and tried not to wince while the needle pieced him back together. 

She watched him, waiting for any sign that the pain was too much. That only fed his determination to hide his discomfort. When he was a slave soldier he endured much worse with no treatment. When he was an arena fighter, he could still barely afford medicine. This pain was nothing. 

He hoped Wren wouldn’t wake before the doctor was finished. The boy was too young to see something like this. 

“Layer him up well, okay? That uniform and coat aren’t enough.” Doctor Kipling handed her a basket of torn linen and tins of cream. “Here are the bandages and salve. Come back if you need me, Your Highness. I am happy to serve.” 

The night air graced his skin. His body fluctuated from scalding to frigid, but the breeze was pleasant. They walked to Solace’s carriage, accompanied by Nisa. She had dismissed Jasper and Gamel earlier. 

Solace’s soldiers and staff fell quiet when they saw her. 

“They are expecting your orders for tonight, Your Highness,” Nisa supplied. “We were supposed to march through the night and tomorrow morning, but maybe we should stop and organize camp tonight. Ascelin will benefit from a fire. We may not be on time for your meeting with Lord Daledan, but I can send a courier to warn them.” 

“And the troops are tired after the parade,” she appended. The two of them were so familiar with each other that Ascelin wondered if they were the same person. “I’ll give them time to rest while he heals. Tell everyone we’ll resume marching in the morning, double pace. No courier, Nisa. We won’t be late for dinner with the Daledans.” 

“I—I don’t want to be a burden. You shouldn’t stop for me, Mistress. I’ll be okay.” His voice was reduced to a whisper. “Please, don’t make them wait for me. They already don’t like me.” 

Nisa patted his back gently, conscious of his stitches. “They’ll like you a great deal more if you earn them a night of sleep,” she chuckled.

Solace’s face twitched when she touched him. “I don’t care if they like you. No one will hurt you, as long as you belong to me. Nisa, find Gamel and tell him to pitch a tent and build us a fire like a useful steward.” 

Nisa gave them a nod and ducked away to carry out her instructions. 

A few minutes passed before Gamel found them. He had already set up a tent, and the fire was on its way to blazing, a skill from his time during the wars. Solace dismissed him instantly after he brought her bags from her carriage. She didn’t have the patience for the old drunk tonight. 

“Here.” She dug a blanket from a trunk for Ascelin. “Go sit by the fire. That river was half frozen.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Ascelin wrapped it around his shoulders, taking care not to let it touch the ground. It was so soft and warm and thin between his fingers, he could  _ feel  _ how expensive it was. Was it Jaarvan cotton or Khorvan wool?

She joined him with one of her own. Regal and powerful, she was beautiful in the light of the fire. “I’ve been thinking, you told me all recruits in the Odium were taken from their families. That includes you, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes, Mistress, I was a slave. It isn’t my first time, you aren’t my first master.” 

She fell quiet like the thought disturbed her. “Who was your first?”

“The woman who took me from my parents. She sold me to the Odium, and then any free Odite could buy and sell me. I was a soldier.” Ascelin answered. “I bought my freedom after years of pickpocketing, and that’s when I joined the rings.” 

She leaned back and eyed him, running her tongue over her teeth. “You could have left, then. You chose to stay.” 

“No, Mistress.” He stared down at his feet. “No one leaves the Odium, not truly. I was forced to stay, and I began fighting to survive.” 

She sighed, clenching her blanket tighter. “I will eradicate the Odium,” she told him. “When I am empress, I will do what my mother couldn’t.” 

“I’m glad, Mistress,” he grunted. 

She furrowed her brows. “You don’t sound like an Odite leader.”

“I never wanted to be. I only wanted to be safe, and that meant being feared.” 

Solace could hardly see how anyone could fear him. The way he was now, anyway. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew what the Galeth did to him. They cut him open and tore him to pieces. He was tougher than the other victims of Lord Galeth, she could see the facets of his personality that endured, but he was also docile. She could have her way with him right now, while he was raw and bleeding and cold, but she could never take his personhood from him, not completely. No one could.

She took the salve from Doctor Kipling’s basket and silently began to slather his cuts with it. Ascelin was covered in them, but they clustered around his limbs, where his clothes didn’t protect him. 

He hissed at the stinging, but didn’t complain. Her fingers were warm and gentle and didn’t wander. Her eyes were focused even as she worked up his shins and on his inner thighs. He curled his toes. Ascelin couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him tenderly there. Rosamel was callous with him, and his lovers in the Odium only wanted him for what was between his legs, none of what surrounded mattered. 

“Why you?” she asked as she finished with his arms. Her hands fluttered around him, paying close care to each wound on his collarbones. 

“Hmm, Mistress?”

“Why you?” she repeated. “Why did the Galeth give me you?” 

“They couldn’t take anyone else, Mistress. The others were dead or in a stronghold. I was smuggling a group of recruits into the building when they found us. They lined us up and slit their throats. I think my jewelry saved me, not many people could afford it, so they knew I wasn’t an ordinary Odite. They dragged me in front of the doors and demanded a negotiation. Rosamel wanted to kill me when they refused, but Lord Galeth said the Bulieres might appreciate a ‘pretty little hostage.’”

She wrinkled her nose, screwing the top of the tin shut. “Rosamel Galeth may be worse than her father. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.” 

“I haven’t either, Mistress.” He grimaced, thinking of her. 

“We don’t share blood. She’s Lord Galeth’s daughter from his first marriage. I think I’ll have her sterilized when I’m Empress,” she considered. “That bitch isn’t fit to have children. I’ve heard what she does to the young men in her castle.” 

Solace softened when she noticed the way he flinched at the tone of her voice.

“Come, let’s get some rest. We have a long way to go tomorrow.” 

She poured a pail of water over the fire. He was sad to see it extinguished, missing its heat already. Ascelin followed her into the tent and froze. 

“There… there’s only one bed, Mistress.”

“Furniture isn’t easy to carry across the empire. I won’t hurt you,” she assured. “And I’m not going to rape you. You can stop looking at me like I’m about to.” 

He sputtered, “I—I’m not!” 

“You are,” she snapped. “I’ll keep you warm and that’s all. Now, get on the bed, I’m exhausted.” 

He complied, and Solace kept her word. She laid on her side and put her arm over his chest delicately, going no lower. 

“We’ll be in close quarters for the…” she yawned, “the next few months. I need you to trust me.” 

“I do, Mistress,” he tried to say. 

“You don’t. You obey me. I promise you, I’ll keep you safe. You’re not directly responsible for my brother. You don’t seem like a selfish person. If anything, you’re an altruist. There’s no reason for me to hate you.” 

“But I’m an Odite,” he pointed out. 

“Not by choice. Tell me you trust me not to hurt you tonight so I can sleep in peace.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I trust you, Mistress.” He almost believed what he was saying. He  _ did  _ feel safe, not safe enough to sleep while her hands were on him, but it was better than nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tada! I originally had a 10,000 word monstrosity for this chapter but decided to cut it down and save the other 7,000ish words until after they were edited. I'm setting up a major plot device for later in the story in this chapter. You'll get your Solace and Ascelin one-on-one fun next chapter.

She would be devastated to see the Daledans destroyed. They were charitable and good natured, but liabilities, according to her mother, and she wouldn’t feel sympathy for them. Solace couldn’t as readily repress her humanity. Lord and Lady Daledan were a wizened old couple. They had seven children, and a heap of grandchildren to rival an orphanage. They didn’t act like wealthy aristocracy. Instead, they lived in a quiet estate in the country, growing and tending to their family. 

“I’m so sorry to hear about your brother.” Albertine Daledan reached for her hands. They sat across from each other in a quiet sunroom. “My husband and I were so shocked and sad. Prince Emmet was a delightful young man, so full of life.” 

She brought her cup to her mouth to hide her face, struggling not to lose control in front of Albertine and Ascelin, who mutely quietly in the corner, eyes trained on her. 

Nisa had tried to convince Solace to let her supervise him while she held a private audience with the leader of house Daledan. Lady Daledan’s husband was on a hunting expedition with all of their children, but due to return in the next few hours. Until then, the mansion was empty with the exception of the matriarch and the servants.

Even with so few people around, Solace didn’t trust her best friend to protect her slave. She brought him to the meeting. Lady Daledan didn’t complain, but she could tell she wasn’t pleased. Solace didn’t blame her. Their families stood for the same principles, and slavery wasn’t one of them. 

Albertine was the closest thing she had to a grandmother, since both of her parents were orphans. She was as distraught as Solace when she heard the news about Emmet. The royal children would spend weeks with them when they were younger, because they ate what they pleased and wore what they wanted in the Daledan estate. 

Their mother used to tell them that being a mother was more difficult than being a warrior. She had suffered a string of miscarriages before Solace was born. That was how she earned her name. She was a reprieve through all the pain of producing an heir. Emmet followed two years later, although no one expected the Empress would ever have another. In the absence of other siblings, the Daledan grandchildren became their brothers and sisters. 

“He was, Lady Daledan. He was brilliant,” Solace replied. 

Ascelin shifted at the edge of his vision, picking at his nails. The subject of Emmet frightened him. She turned her face, unwilling to look at him. 

She wasn’t sure what she thought of him. He didn’t have a choice to join the Odium, he tried to stop what was happening to her brother. But he had power among them. He was one of them. 

“I wish you could stay longer.” Albertine sighed. “I miss having you two—I mean,  _ you _ , around. You’re so busy now that you’re grown.” 

“I would love to stay here forever, if I could. The capital city is too loud for my tastes. It’s so peaceful here, even with the city.” Solace gazed past her, to the empty countryside beyond the windows. A pair of children played in the fields, and she was reminded suddenly of her brother. “But my mother’s become protective, and Emmet may wake. I want to be there when it happens.” 

“Do you think it will happen?” Lady Daledan asked earnestly. “Do you think he’ll recover?” 

“I keep telling my parents I have hope, but…” She shook her head. “His injuries are too severe. If he wakes, he won’t be the same. But there’s a possibility he’ll decide to stop sleeping one day and come back to us. He’s stubborn like Mother.” 

“Then that’s good enough for me,” Albertine Daledan decided. “If there’s a chance, I’m happy.” 

A knock came at the door. A fat man with a neatly groomed grey beard and his youngest son thundered in, mortifying Lady Daledan. Ascelin jumped, pressing himself into the wall to distance himself from them. 

“Henry, Tristan, what did I tell you about knocking?”

“We did knock, Mother! We just didn’t wait for permission to enter.” Tristan shrugged, giving her slave a sideways glance. He had the sense not to ask questions.

“The princess is here. Show some respect,” she reprimanded. They fell to their knees before her. 

Solace chuckled, “Lord Daledan, Tristan, it’s so good to see you.” She rose from her chair and went to them. “Rise.” 

They both embraced her, and for a moment, she was afraid this was her assassination. It was better than a knife to her heart like her grandfather, she supposed, but she didn’t want to die by Daleda, suffocated in a heap of flaming red hair and unchecked testosterone. 

“I can’t breathe,” she protested. “Let me go!” 

Ascelin lunged toward her, about to pry them off her. She shook her head and mouthed  _ it’s okay _ . He returned to his corner, without ever drawing attention to himself. She could tell why he was so high in the Odium’s ranks. He could kill without any warning. 

“Let me go, or I’m calling my guards in here,” she warned, unable to keep the smile from her face.

Tristan held on longer than his father, and she didn’t mind. He was the fifth child of Henry and Albertine, and her best friend. “I haven’t seen you in years, Solace, and I’m not even allowed to hug you?” 

She stood an arm’s length back from him to look at him properly. His red hair was longer than she remembered. The baby fat on his face had melted off, revealing a finely-cut face. Other than that, he was the same Tristan she had always known, a splatter of freckles across his cheeks, a crooked row of bottom teeth, a lopsided smile. 

“You’ve grown,” Tristan said. 

“So have you,” Solace returned. “And you’re skinnier.” 

“I joined the army,” he explained, glittering wit in his eyes. Oh, how she missed him. He flexed his arms for her, but it wasn’t as if she could see anything through his shirtcoat. 

“You joined the army and didn’t think to tell me?” she nudged his chest playfully. “I would have come to see you.” 

“I wasn’t in it very long. I wasn’t suited for it.” 

She snorted. “Clearly not.” 

She realized Lord and Lady Daledan were watching fondly when she felt more eyes on her only Ascelin’s. Suddenly, she was acutely aware exactly what they wanted. She and Tristan were the same age, both unmarried, both from powerful blood. And they loved each other already, which was the problem. She didn’t want to marry her second-best friend, even if her mother allowed it.

_ Remember, find a pretty commoner that the people will love _ , she reminded herself. That was why she was here. At least, it was what her mother told her to disguise why she was really travelling across the empire less than a year after what happened to her brother. She had a seperate agenda, but Solace didn’t know what. 

“Lord Daledan, Lady Albertine, thank you so much for hosting me.” Solace allowed years of etiquette training to take control of the conversation. “I’m so happy to be here after so long.” 

The lord let out a guffaw and waved his hands. “Enough of that, Solace. Call me Henry, just like you always have.” 

She flashed the family a teasing smile. “Well then,  _ Henry _ , would you show me around town after lunch? I want to see how Daledan’s Bend has changed since I left, but I need to regroup with my people first.” 

“Of course we will,” Tristan chimed in. “Are you going to bring that army of yours? I saw it while riding in, they won’t fit in the town.” 

“I’m only bringing my elite guard, around twenty,” she assured. “And it’s barely an army, only six thousand men.” 

“That’s six thousand more than you’ll need, after I join you,” he declared haughtily, knowing exactly how ridiculous that would be. He paused at the confused look on her face. “She didn’t tell you?” 

Albertine flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Solace. I meant to mention it before Tristan came back from his hunting expedition, but we want you to take him with you.” 

“Why?” Solace asked. “If this is a ploy to introduce your son to the noble ladies of Keervan, you know my mother would never abide it.”

“Well, why not?” Henry boomed. 

_ Because she wants to erase your entire class _ , she thought to say. Instead, she settled with something equally in character for her mother. “It’s my audience with the nobles of Keervan. Her Grace wouldn’t want me to share attention with a young lord. Besides, I shouldn’t be picking favorites.” 

“He won’t be going with you as a lord,” Albertine said. “He wants to be a part of your elite guard.” 

She raised a brow. “ _ My _ elite guard? They’re the finest in the empire. Second only to my mother’s elite. No offense to your son, but that kind of skill is rare.” 

He huffed. “Call on your best member. Let me show you my skill.” 

“My best member? Jasper Alby will crush you,” Solace retorted. He was one of her mother’s best friends during the war. When it was over, he became a guard for her family. Tristan was all but raised by Jasper, just like Solace and Emmet. “For your sake, it’s better that you stay away.” 

“He’s still your commander?” Tristan thumped her in the back and let out a laugh. “Jasper’s an old man! He practically raised us. And I’m not a boy anymore.” 

“He will make you look like one. You fought with him hundreds of times when you were younger, and you never bested him, not once. You’re going to make a fool out of yourself,” she chuckled. “It won’t be the little tousles you’re used to.” 

“Let me try anyway,” he insisted. “I’m the fifth son. I’m never going to inherit the estate and the lordship like Drest. I’m not smart like Jenny, or good with animals like Harlan, or charming like—”

She stopped him before he named every sibling. She didn’t have the patience to sit through that. “Fine,” Solace relented. He was a mule-headed person. Not even the daughter of the empress could stop him from getting what he wanted. “Out of courtesy to your parents, I’ll let you try.” 

“Yes!” he exclaimed, giddy with this small victory. 

Solace sighed. He was about to be destroyed by the most brutal swordsman she’d ever met, and he was delighted but it. Well, she supposed that foolish attitude was why she liked him in the first place. No one was stupid enough to be entertaining in the capital, but in the countryside, where the nobles might as well be wealthy commoners, stupidity was in abundance. 

  
  


Tristan’s body hit the ground. She could tell from twenty feet away that the air had been slammed out of his lungs. 

“Again!” he insisted, reaching for Jasper’s hand, who helped him up like a good sportsman. 

Jasper was another veteran from her mother’s wars, like Gamel—if Gamel had retained his fighting capabilities and hadn’t turned to drinking. She had grown up with the towering soldier shadowing her. As soon as she was born, her mother moved her finest man from her personal guard to Solace’s at the cost of her own safety. It was an act of love, a sacrifice—and the empress didn’t like to make sacrifices. 

When she was younger, she used to compare her height to Jasper’s. One of her proudest days as a little girl was when she discovered she was as tall as his waist. Even now, as a grown woman, she was barely up to his shoulders. He was able to make anyone seem small, even Ascelin, who eyed him nervously. 

He was a quiet beast of a man when the empress was watching, but when they were alone, he told her stories. Jasper was a better teacher than her salaried tutors, recounting the legends and folklore of Keervan so she would feel close to her countrymen. He told her the stories of the gods she was created by and the legends in her bloodline years and years ago. She knew them all by heart. It wasn’t the monks who taught her all the names of the gods, it was him. 

Jasper was a gentle soul, a soft and quiet one. He was anything but a gentle warrior, though. Tristan toppled to the ground again. 

“How long will he keep going, Mistress?” Ascelin mumbled from his place at Solace’s side. 

“Until he proves a point,” she responded. “We might be here forever.” 

“Maybe you should just accept him. It would be faster.” His humor shone through his obedient and timid outer shell. It disappeared quickly as he found himself smiling and meeting her eyes. “Sorry, Mistress. I didn’t mean to impose.” 

“No, that’s what I think I’m going to do anyway.” She patted his shoulder, forgetting his wounds until he recoiled. “Oh, I didn’t mean to do that. How are you feeling?” 

“Fine, Mistress,” he answered. “Only scratches. If I was in the Odium, I wouldn’t have stopped to tend to them.” 

“Some of those ‘scratches’ were deep enough for stitches, Ascelin,” she pointed out. “We go about things differently in Keervan. We give a damn about people, for one.” 

_ If the Keervanians gave a damn about people _ ,  _ they would have truly outlawed slavery, _ he thought, not that he could ever say that to her. Sweat formed on his palms. He was overwhelmed with terror by his own mind. He shouldn’t be questioning his mistress, shouldn’t be opposing her even in the privacy of his own ideas. 

He survived the Galeth because of his high pain tolerance and good acting skills, but if he showed the still-intact parts of himself to her, she would return him to have him properly broken. He wouldn’t survive a minute more with Rosamel Galeth. 

“Argh!” Tristan groaned, on his back on the dirt. 

His chest rose and fell while he panted. His shirt was abandoned on the ground. He had taken it off while they were talking. Solace chewed her lip. Tristan had become a man in the years they had been separated. 

After they reached marrying age, their mother forbade her from going to see the Daledans or the Galeth, who were both less than a day’s ride away. Instead, she sent her daughter across the ocean, to meet the royalty of other countries—and their sons and daughters. That trip ended badly, and the empress didn’t suggest a second one.

In that time, Tristan had joined the army and left. It had been only a year and a half, but he had grown taller, stronger, and faster. Not tall, strong, or fast enough for Jasper, though. 

Solace shouted from across the lawn. “Are you done?” 

Nisa approached from behind. “He must be soon, Your Highness, if you want to see Daledan’s Bend today. It’s a twenty-minute ride on horseback to the town. We should leave now.” 

“How many on a carriage? I don’t want Ascelin riding with the stitches on his thigh.” Solace shifted closer to him. Her protective nature put distance between the two of them and Nisa. “I’m long overdue for a real ride, but I don’t want him hurt.” 

“Thirty minutes, Your Highness.” 

“Not much longer. That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. Tell my guard to mount their horses and wait for me.” 

Nisa frowned. “Are you sure about bringing him? He needs rest. He’ll have a bed here, and time to rest properly while you’re gone.” 

“What happened to Mira when I left her for too long?” she hissed. 

Mira. That name turned the exchange cold and unforgiving. It also seemed to end it as well. Ascelin made sure to commit it to memory and ask Nisa about it later. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. You’re right.” Nisa’s tone was just as angry and hushed. He had never seen anyone talk to her like that before. “I shouldn’t have suggested it.” 

“Go find Gamel. Ride into town apart from us and suggest that the princess is taking suitors,” his mistress ordered. “I expect the two of you to bring me only the best.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Nisa was about to bow and leave when a cry of pain that was distinctly  _ not _ Tristan’s rang out across the courtyard. Jasper cupped his hand over his shoulder while his attacker bellowed with laughter. 

“He bit me,” Jasper muttered. He had not drawn blood through his clothes. It seemed to shock him more than anything. 

“What?” he said cheerfully. “When your princess’ life is in danger, you have to fight as dirty as you need to. I’m only keeping it realistic.” 

“Realistic?” she snarled. “I should have you beheaded in your own courtyard for biting a member of my elite guard.” 

All four of them gaped at her. There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in her expression. 

She bristled, resting one hand on her hip and the other on the bridge of her nose. “I’m kidding.” 

After a beat, Nisa said, “I can’t tell.” 

“Neither can I,” Tristan agreed quickly. 

“You’re like your mother,” added Jasper. 

She stared at them, mouth open without a response. She turned her eyes to him, expecting him to admonish her humor as well. He only dipped his head submissively. 

His mistress faltered. “Well I… It doesn’t matter. Tristan, I’m offering you a position in my guard out of respect to your parents, not because you bit my best fighter. Be ready to leave tomorrow morning with your own horse.” 

He threw his fists up into the air. “Yes! I’ll go prepare right now.” 

She grabbed his collar as he passed, yanking him back. “Not now, you idiot. You agreed to take me to Daledan’s bend.” 

“Oh. Yes, of course. I forgot,” he admitted sheepishly. “Let’s go.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next chapter: the introduction of a house worse than the Galeth. They’re gonna set the plot into full-tilt motion.  
> Also coming up next chapter: why Solace is so protective.  
> In this one we have more Tristan, Ascelin’s backstory, and mutual respect reached.  
> It’s 1 am and this isn’t beta read. Forgive me for my mistakes.

Ascelin had encountered protective masters before, but never someone like the princess. She was on the border of territorial. 

His very first master was the woman who snatched him from the streets. She sold him to the Odium, not before he scratched bloody gashes into her face in his attempt to get away. That earned him the title “Kitty” with the other recruits, all slaves as well.

The nickname faded after he was separated from them. His second master, a man called Carver, chose him from all the others to join a division of fighters after he saw him savage another recruit for stealing his food. Everyone else was sorted into work parties and he never saw them again. In the earlier days of belonging to Carver, Ascelin wished he was with them. He was strong. He would do well in a mine, or a smithy. 

He changed his mind when the mine collapsed and the smithy burned down. Accidents were common in the Odium. The safest place was with a band of mercenary slaves. 

He didn’t remember the flurry of masters after Carver deemed him fully trained. He fought dozens of battles for dozens of people. All his wages from those wars went to whoever held his papers, but he had collected wealth as well. After years of stealing minuscule amounts of money from his commanding officers, he had enough to buy his freedom. 

He should have left the Odium then, when he belonged to himself. Sometimes, he fantasized about where he would be if he had. But he had no one to return to. His parents didn’t give a damn about him and his friends were slaves. He chose what was natural, he chose what he did best.

He joined the fighting rings. 

It started with opponents just as obscure as him, in a dirty alley with a few hundred watching. He made a name for himself, as Lion of Filmorn, the capital of the Odium. It was better than Kitty. 

During his time as a mercenary, the bloodlust that consumed him in battle faded away a few hours after. It wasn’t the same as a free man. He could fight for days on end, up to ten people each day. Some days, he was too riled to eat or sleep, fighting and fucking instead. He had no shortage of female admirers. Or male, for that matter. He didn’t care as long as they had coin. Killing in front of an audience paid surprisingly little. 

After a few years of that, he grew tired. He wanted more. Compared to the roaring beasts who challenged each other in the official city arenas, he was a yapping dog. They fought each other for positions in the Odium’s leadership, and he became one of them. At first, it was brutal. They were stronger than him, more experienced. But he was the Lion of Filmorn, and eventually, he became a council member for the Berserker of the Odite, their equivalent of a king. 

When they heard the children of the Empress were traveling through their territory, the others in council were elated. Ascelin wasn’t so sure. Antagonizing the son and daughter of the most powerful woman on the other side of the sea didn’t seem like a good idea. Of course, they ignore him. He was the only one who fought his way into the Berserker’s good graces, and they barely recognized him as one of them. 

So they captured them. Well, one of them, anyway. The daughter was smarter, and too quick. The plan had been to ransom him, but the Empress of Keervan refused. They ripped out his fingernails. She refused again, and they beat him until he was unconscious and unable to wake up. The third time, they demanded mercy, and the Empress agreed in return for her son’s body.

She withdrew her troops before any blood was drawn and kept her promise. She didn’t retaliate. Her nobles did, a warrior house called Galeth arrived on their shores two months after. They were legendary for their disregard for human suffering, perhaps even more than the Odium. 

He became very familiar with the sadistic nature of the Galeth. Rosamel was his next master. 

  
  


“Don’t wander far,” Solace commanded. “I don’t want you to be stolen. If someone speaks to you, say you’re my second steward. The people of Daledan’s Bend will kill you if they know who you really are. They’re friendly, but not friendly to your kind.” 

“Yes, Mistress,” replied Ascelin. 

He absentmindedly stared ahead, past the horses drawing their carriage, at Nisa, who was riding Smoke. Jasper and Tristan were beside her, but he was the object of his mistress’ focus. 

“I can’t tell if you’re looking at the horse, or her ass,” she commented. 

He flustered. “Th-The horse, Mistress.” 

“Good, because she doesn’t like men.”

He blinked in surprise. “She likes women, Mistress?”

She nodded. “More than most men do, if you'll believe it. We’re almost there now, you’ll like the town.”

Daledan’s Bend was a town built around the curve of a river, the same one Ascelin waded through the day before. It was originally named Caymen’s Bend, but after the Daledan family won a battle on behalf of Solace’s ancestors, the town was renamed for them and they became lords of the surrounding region.

When she was visiting Tristan, they spent entire days in town. Being royalty, they had no shortage of pocket money. She liked to think the bend became a merchant’s town because of them alone. 

“What sort of food do you like?” 

“Food, Mistress?” Ascelin asked groggily. 

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Food.” 

“Oh. Anything’s okay, Mistress,” he answered sheepishly, “but I like spicy things.” 

“The spices here are imported from outside of Keervan. They aren’t as good as what you have in the Odium, from what I’ve heard.” 

“They are quite extraordinary,” he agreed. 

The buildings were beginning to close in on the street, wide houses spaced luxuriously apart, a far cry from the dense and tall city. The carriage rolled to a stop in the square. Solace stepped gracefully onto the street, helped down by the carriage. Ascelin stumbled after her.

“Remember what I told you, Nisa, Gamel. Tristan, come with me. Jasper, tell the guards to clear the shops before I enter.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” they said. 

Half of her guards formed a circle around her. The other half patrolled a distance away, keeping the crowd back. People gathered as close as they could, gawking at the princess. She smiled at them, that portrait-ready, polished smile. 

Ascelin was used to being watched. Thousands would cheer for him in the arena, but never in adoration like this. They cheered for his blood on the dirt, not the way they cheered for her, not for her presence alone. 

Emmet had told him stories once, stories that he himself didn’t believe.The Bulieres were rumored to have descended from the gods. She certainly looked like one when put in front of a crowd. He felt so small next to her, he wanted to press his body into hers and disappear. She felt his unease.

“You’ll be accustomed to it soon,” she whispered. “They don’t know who you are. You’re safe.” 

They spent hours wandering the town. She seemed to know every shop owner in the square, and they certainly knew her, too. By the end of it, her guards were hauling armfuls of gifts. If an overpowering force wanted to attack her, they would be caught unprepared, with her army of thousands left at the Daledan’s doorstep half an hour away. 

“Make sure to leave donations for the gifts,” she told Jasper. “At least double their worth. No, triple.” 

“Yes, Your Highness. The sun is going down in less than two hours. We ought to leave soon,” he suggested. “Respectfully, you should save your meeting with your suiters for tomorrow.” 

She snorted. “No. The Calemnars are anticipating my arrival before nightfall tomorrow. I don’t like to keep people waiting, especially not  _ them _ . Damn Calemnars are worse than the Galeth. If I give them an excuse to dislike me personally, they’ll take it and thank me with a knife to the chest eventually.” 

Ascelin shuddered. Worse than the Galeth. He couldn’t imagine that. His mistress’ posture changed, her face contorted into disgust. 

Tristan grimaced. “Fucking House Calemnar. You’re the daughter of the empress. You don’t have to visit them if you don’t want to.” 

“I have to,” she said. “They can’t be denied.” 

She shepherded them into a small eatery. He was fascinated by the way she ate, refined and elegant. He looked down at his own plate, a chicken thigh and vegetables on his plate. The region was heavily forested, away from the warm farms where they were grown. The meal must have cost more than she should have paid for him. He took a bite of the chicken. 

Spicy, she remembered. 

She eyed him while she ate. “Do you like it?” 

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you.” 

She scanned his plate. “That thigh’s big, almost looks like a swan’s.” 

Tristan laughed. “I was there when you ate that swan! You said it was too lean and too dry, remember? Emmet was horrified and spat it out.” 

She took a sip of wine, grin showing through the glass. “He threatened to stop eating if the cooks slayed another swan, so—” 

“So he put them in the gardens instead!” he finished. “They tore the flowers and dirtied the pavement and attacked me. I stopped visiting because of those awful creatures, you know. I was glad when your mother killed them.” 

“As if my parents wanted you in the palace anyway,” she shot back. “You made more of a mess than those swans, you know.” 

Ascelin listened to their conversations. It was only the three of them, with Jasper standing watch with the other guards. They recounted the story of their childhoods with Emmet. Once, they had gotten lost in the woods surrounding the Daledan estate and an entire army was dispatched to look for them. Once, they bought a pineapple from a merchant’s cart in the capital and were sick for days. Once, they had found a puppy in the garden that turned out to be an orphaned coyote. Once, they had toppled over a three-hundred year-old statue of the goddess Oriadne, and shattered it into pieces. 

They were close, and had been for a long time. He thought of his own friends, the one he made while he was in power in the Odium. They were more than likely dead. Anyone who mattered was dead after the Galeth invasion, except the Berserker. No one could kill him, as far as he could tell. 

“What is he, anyway?” Tristan gestured to Ascelin through a mouthful of food. 

“I—Uh, I’m a steward, My Lord,” he blurted out. 

“It’s okay, Ascelin. You don’t need to lie to him. He’s a slave, acting as a steward,” she explained. “He was a leader from the Odium.” 

Tristan exploded, slamming his palms onto the table. “What the hell?! A slave? And from the Odium, too! What the fuck has gotten into you?” 

“Keep your voice down,” she barked. “I didn’t want him, if that helps. The Galeth gave him to me and my mother didn’t give me a choice to accept.” 

“How the hell is he—” he jabbed a trembling finger toward his face, “—an Odite leader? He’s as quiet as a dormouse.” 

“I told you that the  _ Galeth _ gave him to me, Tristan.” 

Tristan sat back down. “Oh.  _ Oh… _ they fucked him up, didn’t they?” 

She shot him a glare. “That’s a crude question. What do you think they did, Tris? The Galeth are legendary for torture.” 

“Good,” he huffed. “He’s an Odite.” 

“I tried to save him!” Ascelin exclaimed. His voice softened when he realized he had yelled at his superiors, but he kept going. “The others couldn’t be convinced to let him go, but I tried. I brought him food, I kept him company and he told me stories about his family. He said you were too much like your mother, Mistress.” 

“You have no right to talk about him like he was your friend,” Tristan remonstrated. “You have no right to—” 

“Enough,” she interrupted. She had been watching impassively until then, like her slave speaking up against her friend didn’t bother her. She folded her napkin in her lap and set it on the table. “Too much like my mother… that does sound like something he’d say.” 

The eatery had been cleared for the princess and her friends. Some patrons were in the middle of their meals when they were herded out by her guards. There was no crowd to hear their argument, but the staff were watching. She was used to audiences, but this one was particularly suffocating.

Solace tapped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and poured her bag of coins on the table, at least triple the price of their food. He watched the Keervanian crowns clatter on the table, like they meant nothing to her. “I’ve lost my appetite. Come, Nisa’s waiting for me with the suitors.” 

“You’re really going to see them?” Tristan grumbled while they walked. 

She scowled. “My mother wants me to get married.” 

“To a commoner?” 

_ It’s because she wants to destroy your class. _ “The nobles are barely anything more than wealthy commoners anyway. You’re titular.” 

He gasped, imitating offense. “Your Highness, you wound me.” 

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Good.” 

Gamel sat at the ledge of a fountain, swinging his legs like a child. Nisa was speaking to the men she had gathered. A total of four. Solace swallowed, willing herself to get through this. 

These were the two people who knew her best, but she doubted their selection from Daledan’s Bend would impress her when she had met the princes and even kings of other realms without batting an eye. The prince of Khorv was terribly entitled, for someone who ruled a kingdom of empty, snowy mountains. The king of Mahaij and his twin brother, the king of Merdonia shared half a personality between the two of them. The young men of the Jaarvan states were desperate to please the princess of a much greater empire. 

They dropped to the ground in front of her, all four young men. They were pretty, most likely Nisa’s suggestions. She knew Solace had an eye for beautiful things. 

_ Not as pretty as Ascelin. _ She furrowed her brows. Where did that idea come from? 

“Solace Buliere, Princess of Keervan,” Nisa announced. 

“You may rise,” said Solace. “Your names?” 

She didn’t listen to their answers. She didn’t really care. 

  
  


Ascelin was about to collapse from exhaustion. As much as he tried to hide it, his wounds were worse than he expected. Nisa didn’t look any better. She swayed from foot to foot, trying to stay awake. The sun was about to set, and Jasper’s anxiety was growing, but his mistress was still speaking to one of the men. 

It was obvious why. He had soft-looking lips, big eyes, wavy hair, and a melodic voice that could soothe a wolf into being a lapdog. If Ascelin wasn’t so tired, he would be jealous. Of his looks, not of the princess’ attention. 

His mistress staggered back to them a few minutes later, having dismissed all of the suitors. He smelled the wine on her and winced. 

“Are you drunk?” Nisa demanded. “I was watching you the entire time, when did you have time to drink?” 

“Ha! It’ll take a lot more than that to get me drunk. One of them brought a cask of wine from his father’s brewery. Nothing exceptional, but I may have overindulged.” She yawned. “Your choices were disappointing.” 

“They were the best I could find. Well-read, attractive, demure, the kind of men you like.” Nisa defended herself. “Besides, you seemed to like the last one.” 

_ Well-read, attractive, demure _ , Ascelin noted. He could read, but he never had time to learn all that much. She had called him pretty the night she met him, so at least he had that. Demure was one of the last words someone would use to describe him before the Galeth, but he was something close to that now. Certainly obedient and meek.

He realized he was comparing himself to her specific taste in men and bit his tongue to get his mind off that.

“He was interesting, I’m not going to marry him.” 

“Of course not. I wonder why Her Grace is forcing you to do this,” she mused. “She must know you’re not going to find a husband like she did.” 

“Yes, I wonder why. She’s hiding something.” She narrowed her eyes at Nisa. Ascelin recognized that look, it was suspicion. “But I’m not in the mood to dissect my mother’s thoughts. Go find Tristan, then we’ll leave.” 

The journey back was terribly long in the darkness. They jostled on the uneven path to the Daledan estate. It was a sprawling mansion with an even larger courtyard. He couldn’t make out the garden without a torch, but during the day, it was more beautiful than the royal palace’s. 

Ascelin helped his mistress into the house and up the stairs. The Daledans gave her a suite. There was only one bed, which he had spent the entire day bothered by. She had kept her promise the night before and didn’t hurt him, but would the same apply when there were thicker walls to muffle his cries than a tent? The day she met him, she had been drinking. She forced him to strip, she put her hands on his face. Would she be worse tonight? 

He tried not to stare at her. Rosamel Galeth said she was brutal, a bitch like the rest of the Bulieres. Her father, Stelson Galeth, said she was kind, too good for someone like him and he should be glad if she didn’t throw him away within a week. 

Everyone had conflicting opinions of her. He didn’t know what his own was. What did he think of the woman who told him to strip but didn’t fuck him? Who scorned him but protected him from the people who wanted to hurt him? Who was crude with her friends but charming and refined with the masses? 

She was a living contradiction. That made him nervous.

“Take my shoes off.” 

He knelt and slipped her sensible sandals off, placing them carefully by the bedpost. 

“Come. Sit next to me.” 

His mistress radiated heat like a raging fire. He wondered how he didn’t notice how warm she was. She put her arm around him. He leaned into her touch, missing the companionship of another person.

Rosamel would lock him in a dark room for days on end when she was bored of him. Sometimes, she forgot him long enough that he started to rip his skin apart to entertain herself. Twice, he was alone long enough to see people who weren’t there. His friends from the Odium, his family, everyone he ever loved. They screamed awful things at him, and he screamed back until he was vomiting blood. Anything was better than that. He preferred when she was beating him and fucking him raw, as long as he wasn’t shut away.

The princess’ company wasn’t violent—not yet, anyway—but it was impersonal. Whatever care she showed for him was hidden behind a cold demeanor. He didn’t blame her. She shouldn’t like him.  _ Odite warrior _ . The worst thing to be, yet she treated him fairly. Not like a friend, but not like a slave. 

“If my father were here right now,” she began, like she was about to tell a long story, “He would be proud of us for getting along. The slave trade is illegal in Keervan, meaning I’m stuck holding your papers, so you belong to me until one of us dies. If we’re going to be together for so long, we should be friends, don’t you think?” 

His mouth went dry. She was offering kindness, banter, loyalty, to  _ him _ . She definitely wasn’t sober. Whatever that suitor had offered her was strong. 

“Yes, Mistress. Friends.” 

She patted his shoulder. “Good boy,” she hummed. “I have no reason to hate you. From what I’ve seen, you’re a decent and brave person. Better than most, if you opposed the other Odites to try to save Emmet.” 

Ascelin’s face went red. _ Good boy _ . Rosamel’s voice echoed in his head, calling him that while she caned him, while she fucked him, while she let her servants fuck him. It was a cruel thing, calling him good while treating him like a misbehaving breeding bitch. 

“What’s wrong?” His mistress looked at him with soft eyes. 

He let out an uneven breath. “It’s nothing, Mistress.” 

“You shouldn’t keep secrets from me,” she cautioned.

“I was thinking about the Galeth,” he confessed. 

She squeezed him sympathetically. “I would ask for details, but I don’t think I want to hear them.” 

So she only wanted the secrets that were convenient to her. That was fair enough, he supposed. It was better than telling her everything. 

“Unlace my back.”

“What, Mistress?”

“Unlace my back,” she repeated, “so I can undress and sleep.” 

His fingers fumbled to obey her. Every time he expected the worst, his mistress delivered only kindness, but he couldn’t be sure that today wouldn’t be the day she hurt him like Rosamel. 

She slept in her full gown the night before. Neither of them had cared to wear anything else. He couldn’t imagine how badly that chaffed, but she didn’t take it off. The swaths of fabric were warm against the spring air.

The outer layers of her dress came off. The inner support peeled away from her body like a shell. A simple shift remained. She exchanged it for a nightgown, unbothered by Ascelin’s presence. Her body rippled with the beginnings of muscles. Faint scars from a clumsy childhood still remained. 

He tilted his head down before he saw her breasts. Something like that would warrant a beating with Rosamel. Anything would warrant a beating, really. She was an inconsistent woman. 

“Were you waiting for permission to change into your sleeping clothes? Go, you don’t need it.” 

He wasn’t as brave as his mistress was about his body. She had seen him naked before, but she wouldn’t need to tonight. His nightclothes were a simple cotton set, nothing like her Jaarvan silks. 

“Oh, I almost forgot. Sorry to make you do this after you’ve just finished, but take everything but your underclothes off. I have to clean your wounds.” She pointed to a chair and fished the salve and some bandages from her bag. 

His mistress called for a maid to bring a bucket of hot water and a towel. She soaked the towel and wrung it dry before running it gently over his scratches. Some of them were looking better already, others not so much. The heat of the towel unwound some of the knots in his back and he sagged, relieved after so long on edge.

She dabbed the salve into his wounds. The tension that had just been released returned as the awful stinging began. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t like it either, but Doctor Kipling says it’s the best to prevent an infection.” 

“It’s okay, Mistress,” he forced through gritted teeth. 

He lifted his arms and allowed her to wrap bandages around them. His forearms were cut worse by the brambles yesterday. He never thought something as mundane as applying bandages could be so tender. Solace Buliere’s mellow side must have come from her father. She ran her fingers over the stitches on his back.

“Pants off,” she said after helping him ease his shirt on again. 

He slid them to his ankles and kicked them aside. She went to his shins first, turning his legs over in her hands to look for cuts. They didn’t hurt as badly as the ones on his upper body, but he still hated the salve. There were few gashes on his thighs. She lingered on them longer than she should have, examining the scars Rosamel left, touch as light as a butterfly’s wings. 

When she wandered too high up his inner thigh, he clamped his legs shut and grabbed the armrests of the chair with shaking hands. She noticed, but didn’t ask questions. Instead, she tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and moved on to the other leg, as if nothing ever happened. 

His mistress was quick, possibly quicker than the doctor. How could a princess be better at treating wounds than a doctor? 

When she was done, she stood and collapsed onto the bed. 

“You won’t be able to bathe until the stitches come off. Remind me tomorrow to give you a sponge bath. I don’t want you too grimy.” She patted the pillow. “Come, we don’t have much time to rest before we leave.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” He climbed on the mattress with her.

She didn't hold him like she had last night. They were in a well-heated house and she didn’t need to. They drifted to opposite ends of the bed. As far away and as big as the mattress was, he could feel her shifting back and forth. 

She sat up after an hour, more restless than ever. “Ascelin,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

She sounded like she wanted to tell him something. He kept his eyes closed.

“Ascelin?”

Her hands brushed his cheek. He suppressed a flinch. He was exhausted by staying awake the night before in the tent when he didn’t quite trust her yet. He still didn’t, but he was too tired to care what she did to him. It was a lie, pretending he was asleep. 

_ The only lie I’ll ever tell her _ , he promised himself as he drifted off, wondering what she wanted to say. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An antagonist??? A PLOT??!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I expected lmao. Thanks to Tak138 for betaying this!  
> -  
> Me: Ascelin could flex his pecs and kill you with his sex appeal god he's so sexy it's almost violent. He's a battle-hardened warrior who killed to entertain people who didn't give a rat's ass about him and clawed his way to power before being taken by the batshit crazy bannermen of a hostile empress and tortured into an obedient shell of himself plagued by a sociopath's torment. He suppresses his true self because he belongs to the daughter of a conqueror and he's afraid she'll hurt him, but he's liable to snap any moment and return to the savage fighter he used to be. He could literally destroy you the only reason he hasn't is because he's traumatized as hell.  
> Everyone: hes so soft i am literally in love with him poor boy (◕︿◕)  
> Me: ...Yes that's what I was going for.

The guards at the door watched Solace intently, protecting her while her troupe ate breakfast. Their glances lingered on her slave, though. He was their true focus. She ventured to guess he was a subject of curiosity for almost everyone around her, this Odite hostage who rescued a little boy, now affixed to her side.

Tristan glowered at him. Solace would have to redirect his anger. She wouldn’t tolerate open aggression between her friend and her slave, especially now that he wasn’t only her friend, but her guard as well.

Open aggression. That was a distressing thing to think about after last night. 

Lady and Lord Consort Daledan were away for the time being. Now was the only time she could have this conversation until they were cleared of suspicion for what happened last night. She considered ordering Tristan to leave, since he was their son, but decided against it. 

“Someone was watching us while we slept,” Solace told her retinue. 

“What do you mean, watching you?” Nisa set her cup down delicately. “What happened?”

Jasper spoke from his seat on the far side of the table. “I stationed my men outside your door, Your Highness. No one could have gotten in or out.” 

“You didn’t station them at the windows.” Solace pushed her plate away and rose. “A woman was looking through one of them.” 

She walked onto the dining hall balcony, beckoning the others to follow. From where they stood, they could see the window to the room she slept in last night. The balcony was on the second story, level with her room on the other side of the manor. 

“It’s a smooth wall,” Solace muttered. “How the hell did she get there?” 

“You certain you didn’t imagine it, oh Highness?” Gamel drawled.

Dr. Kipling nodded. He had wanted to ask that as well. “You’ve been quite busy recently. The pressure of being the princess may have played with your mind a bit.” 

She twisted around to glare at her steward and doctor. Questioning a Buliere was among the worst things to do, especially when she was disturbed. 

Tristan interjected quickly. “She didn’t. At least, it’s not likely. There are fixtures on the roof that someone could tie a rope to. All they would have to do then is lower themselves down and climb back up when they were finished.”

Dr. Kipling squinted at the window. “What did the woman look like, Your Highness?”

“It was dark. She wasn’t there very long and I didn’t see any distinguishing features, but she was thin looking with long hair.”

Nisa gripped the railing with one hand and pinched the bridge of her nose with the other. “That’s not very helpful, Your Highness. It could have been anyone.” 

“I’m not concerned with the spy’s identity so much as I am with who sent her,” Jasper said. “Who would want to see what you’re doing while you’re… sleeping?” 

Warmth spread across her cheeks. She was okay with Nisa’s suspicions, but her second father was calling her sensibility into doubt in front of her closest friends. 

“There was only one bed and I didn’t see the need to send for another,” she hissed. “I slept with him, yes, but I didn’t  _ sleep with him _ . I’m unimpressed by your implications.” 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Jasper bowed his head. “I was only meaning to say that there’s no real reason to be watching you when you aren’t doing anything.” He stepped closer and whispered into her ear. “Maybe there is more than one spy. You grew up with Tristan, I was there to see it, but I don’t trust him. You haven’t been with him in almost two years. Allegiances change in that time. He was very insistent on becoming your guard.” 

“He was,” she agreed quietly. Tristan stared at them from a few feet away. Their voices were too low for him to make out, but she felt horribly exposed. “You think he wants to be close to me to spy on me?” 

“He might be, Your Highness. I know you loathe to think that. I do too; I saw the kid grew up. But…” 

“You doubt him,” she whispered. 

Solace’s skin prickled. She doubted him too. She hated to even think it, but Tristan was a stranger to her now. It had been a year and a half. That was enough time to become a new person entirely, like she had changed when Mira died, or when Emmet was taken, and again when Ascelin was delivered to her. 

Yes, Tristan appeared the same. He was still stubborn, still bull-headed and brash, but she couldn’t say anything about his loyalty. 

Maybe it was  _ her _ loyalty that shifted. When Nisa offered to watch Ascelin while she went to Daledan’s Bend, she refused. She forced her wounded, exhausted slave to follow her around for a day instead of resting under the careful eyes of her best friend, who didn’t even like men. If she didn’t trust Nisa, who was almost her sister, what kind of honor could she hold herself to? 

“I do, Your Highness. But I don’t know who he could be reporting to. The empire is at relative peace. There is always one person unaccounted for, though.” 

“Elanthine,” she gasped. 

Solace dismissed but Jasper and Nisa. Kipling sat back down on the table and snatched up a roll. Everyone else headed to their rooms. 

“Wait. Ascelin, stay. I don’t want you out of my sight.” 

He went to stand in a corner of the balcony, but she called him closer, draping her arm over his shoulder. She realized it was a display of ownership when Jasper and Nisa exchanged glances. She only held him tighter, wondering what could have happened if an assassin was sent instead of a spy. After only a few days, his heroic nature was more than obvious to her. The way he looked at her… he would die for her. The Galeth trained him that way. All the devotion he had for her was artificial, but it  _ was _ devotion. Loyal, unwavering devotion. 

“Do you think she’s back?”

“Elanthine Buliere, Your Highness?” Nisa chewed her lip. “She’s unpredictable. It’s hard to tell.”

Jasper clenched his teeth. “We should have killed her when we had the chance, especially after what she did to… your friend, Your Highness.”

He was hesitant to even say her name.

Nisa put her face in her hands and her elbows on the table. “Yes,” she hissed. “ _ Her Grace _ should have.” 

“Elanthine is our family,” Solace retorted, anger flaring on her face. “If Bulieres go to war with another, we will destroy the world in the process. I’ve never known my mother to be merciful. She could have killed Elanthine. She was more than justified, but she didn’t. Her decision was made a long time ago, and you are no one to question it.” 

A familiar indignance coursed with her blood, a sense of righteousness and authority that her father could never quite undo. Buliere blood. The men and women who had raised her told stories of the rage, the infamous Buliere rage. Some described it as a religious experience, a coming of age. She had yet to experience it, but she wondered if she would if her closest circle kept pushing her. She was certainly overdue for it. 

Nisa snapped her head up, bitter grief in her expression. “Her Grace, God-Empress of Keervan, should have, Your Highness. She should have ripped her throat out in the throne room when she had the chance. Did you forget that the Bulieres did go to war with each other? She challenged your mother’s rule, and she will be back to challenge you.”

“Nisa…” Solace warned. “You are toeing the line.” 

“How can you say that?” She curled her fists to hide how they were shaking. “After what she did to Mira, how can you say that?”

Mira. Her name cut into Solace. She squeezed Ascelin. Until she heard a low whine from him. She hadn’t thought to control her strength, distracted by Mira, and had forgotten about his wounds. She stroked his shoulder, a subtle  _ sorry _ . 

“Don’t raise your voice to me. I am your superior, Nisa.” 

“You are my friend. You loved her. I loved her. I was going to marry her! And Elanthine murdered her,” growled Nisa. 

She wasn’t used to hearing her kind and gentle best friend so angry. Then again, they didn't bring up Mira often. It was too painful of a subject. 

“She didn’t murder her.” Solace realized she was defending the person she hated the most. Gently, she added, “Not directly, anyway.” 

Nisa sighed, past her outburst. She knew better than to shout at a Buliere, even if she was her best friend. “No, she didn’t, but she let it happen. She let the staff tear her apart to hurt you. She rallied the nobles against your mother. If she has returned, imagine what she will do now.” 

“Imagine,” she echoed. “Send a courier to my mother. Tell her about the spy and say we may be dealing with Elanthine. The rumors from Jaarva might just be true.”

Jasper cleared his throat. “Speaking of Jaarva, do you think—”

“No. I know what you’re about to say.” Solace sucked in a breath. “I sincerely do not want to think of _him_ right now. Even if his father has decided to side with Elanthine again, it doesn’t matter. He’s nothing to me.”

“Noted, Your Highness,” said Jasper. 

Ascelin was staring at her, but Nisa and Jasper seemed unable to look at her.

Horses thundered up the path to the Daledan’s estate. 

Nisa leaned over the railing to look. “Lady and lord consort Daledan have returned, Your Highness.”

“Come,” she ordered. “Let’s wish them goodbye.” 

  
  


By ‘wish goodbye,’ his mistress meant chatter for half an hour. Ascelin stroked Smoke’s mane, watching them speak. She gave him wary glances once in a while, like she was watching him as well, making sure he hadn’t disappeared. She seemed uneasy to be more than a few feet away from him. 

The horse nudged his face. He laughed and patted her nose and gave her an apple from a sack. His mistress had shown him where the stablemaster kept the treats and instructed him to make friends with Smoke. The beast had taken to him quickly.

He struggled to touch her at first. She cost more than he would, if the Keervanian constitution allowed the sale of slaves. Her coat shimmered grey and white in the morning sun, a perfect, pristine mare for a princess. He didn’t want to damage her. The scale of his own strength escaped him sometimes. It was hard to keep his hands off her when she was so affectionate, though. 

Jasper approached him slowly with his palms up in a show of nonaggression. If he was still Ascelin Saullo, the Lion of Filmorn, he would be offended by how weakly he treated him.

He was a compassionate and observant person, although he was more than capable of killing. 

Ascelin wondered if he could defeat Jasper when Tristan couldn’t. When he was the Lion of Filmorn, Ascelin crushed men like him almost daily. Maybe he could, but his fighting days were long past. The Galeth had weakened him physically. Even if they didn’t, he doubted he had the courage to face someone on even grounds and cut them down.

“What are you doing, son?” Jasper asked. 

“Waiting for my Mistress.” 

He huffed. “Six thousand of us are. I’m going to stand with you until she’s done. Maybe that’ll stop her from looking at you every five minutes. It’ll go quicker that way.” 

“She’s protective, My Lord,” he remarked. “May I ask you a question?” 

“What is it?” 

He swallowed. “Who is Mira? Lady Nisa and my Mistress mentioned her yesterday. I wanted to ask Nisa about her, but she was so upset this morning when she spoke about her today.” 

“Mira…” Jasper crossed his arms and let out a breath. “To tell you who she is, I need to begin with Elanthine. She’s Princess Solace’s cousin. When the Empress’ parents were assassinated, her older brother, Kerion, was killed as well. Kerion was meant to be the next Emperor. Before he died, he had a daughter, Elanthine. That makes her the true heir to the throne, according to the Keervanian constitution.” 

“But Verity Buliere took the throne instead,” he stated. “Why?” 

“Well, Elanthine was only eleven when her father and grandparents died,” Jasper explained. “And she wasn’t suited to rule, anyway. She’s—excuse my language—batshit crazy.” 

He cocked his head. “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard that expression.” 

“Oh, I forget you’re not from around here. She’s violent, volatile, erratic,” The commander scratched the back of his neck. “The only person I’d call utterly terrible, even as a little girl. I watched over Emmet, Nisa, Solace, Tristan, and Mira when they were children. Something was always off about Elanthine. She was about thirteen years older than them—fifteen years older than Emmet—and she was cruel. I used to find her on top of Mira or Nisa, hitting them. She was smart enough not to touch Solace or Emmet, though. Tristan overpowered her easily when she tried to hurt him.”

“So Elanthine Buliere didn’t take the throne because she was unstable.” 

“And because our empress went a little mad with power. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I fought wars with Her Grace—she had shit aim, by the way—I can say whatever I damn please about her.” 

Ascelin decided that Jasper was a messy storyteller and made a note not to encourage him. “But what about Mira?” he pushed. 

“Mira was Elanthine’s slave before the practice was outlawed. Kerion bought his daughter a handmaiden a few months before he died. The handmaiden died giving birth to a daughter when Elanthine was thirteen.” 

Ascelin nodded. “And the daughter was Mira?”

Smoke prodded him again, unhappy that she had lost his attention. He rubbed her coat. 

“That’s right. Mira became part of Solace’s entourage. The little princess had a habit of making friends with anyone she wanted,” Jasper chuckled. “Nisa and Mira fell in love at some point, I guess. I didn’t realize that until they were planning their wedding. I’m glad they didn’t marry in the end. They didn’t have time before Elanthine’s insurgency began. Nisa would have been a widow at seventeen.” 

“Mira died? What happened?” 

Jasper’s face darkened. “Elanthine let the staff murder the girl during her uprising against the empress. She wanted Solace’s support against the empress, and of course, she refused.” 

“So she killed Mira to punish her?” 

“More or less. The staff were happy to do it. Some of them even… they even raped her. They didn’t like her because of how Solace spoiled her. They thought they should be treated better than some slave girl. When Elanthine gave them the chance to rip her apart, they took it. Damn lunatics tore her open,” he snarled. 

Jaspers eyes were closed tight, lips twisted in anguish like a father recounting his daughter’s death. 

“Solace was with her mother when it happened. She left Mira on her own for a few hours, and returned to… to her carcass. Picked her clean like an animal.” 

“That sounds awful.” Ascelin buried his face in Smoke’s mane, imagining the scene. 

“That’s why Solace doesn’t let you wander, I think. Because she doesn’t trust her staff. The empress disposed of everyone involved in her death, but it wasn’t enough.”

He let out a breath. Torn open by a crowd. He was well acquainted with an audience thirsting for his blood, but they were always separated from him. He was in the arena, and they were in the stands. The press of bodies against him, a thousand claws grappling at his flesh… 

“No wonder,” he muttered. “No wonder she doesn’t let me wander. The only time she’s ever been away from me was the first night, when she sent me to her room alone. I think she didn’t want to deal with me with the Galeth around.” 

Jasper grunted. “House Galeth. Nasty sons of bitches. Sorry for my language.” 

“They are an honorable family, My Lord,” he replied quickly. His fingertips grew cold, frigid fear crawled up the rest of his body. 

He saw Rosamel’s face, a taunting and vicious smirk before she bit into him, before she split his skin with her whip, before she fucked him unconscious. She would make him praise the name Galeth as she tortured him, make him denounce the Odium and everything he used to be. He heard Lord Galeth’s grating guffaw and his slurred voice as he forced burning alcohol down Ascelin’s throat until he emptied his stomach on the floor. 

Sweat formed the back of his neck. “We shouldn’t speak poorly of them. They brought the sky down upon the Odium..”

Jasper furrowed his face. “They have you trained well, don’t you? I don’t think they had you for long enough.”

The man stepped closer to him. Ascelin flinched, pressing back into the horse. 

“I see the fire in you. You’re a fighter,” he avowed. “No matter what the Galeth did to you. I recognize my own kind.”

He opened his mouth, about to defend himself. Nothing came to mind. What was he supposed to say, anyway? 

His mistress finally finished speaking to the Daledans. There were six children aside from Tristan, and she had engaged with them all. The oldest of them was in his thirties, the youngest in her teens. Ascelin was his parents’ only child, an unintentional one, too. He could only speculate how it felt to have so many siblings. 

She ambled up to them, bunches of her skirt in her arms. Nisa trailed a pace behind her, tripping on the fabric. Her own dress didn’t go past her ankle. 

The princess’ dress was the finest he’d seen since the shimmering number she had worn for the parade. A leisurely smile decorated her face. It was more authentic than anything he’d ever seen before.  _ Her smile is gorgeous _ , he thought. She wasn't the most beautiful woman to have ever lived, but she was close, and he was used to beautiful women. He had noted her good looks before, but he had never been stunned the way he was now. It was the first time he saw her in a good mood, and it was worth waiting half an hour. 

She reached up to his face, cupping his cheek for a moment with something resembling fondness. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Smoke neighed indignantly at her. She snorted back, giving her a pat on her velvety snout. 

“Mistress,” he breathed. “I, uh—Nevermind. Are you ready to go?’ 

She looked back to the Daledans. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” 

Her smile fell as she faced the Daledan estate. From what he had gathered, half her childhood had been here, the other half was in the palace. It was no surprise that she was hesitant to leave. 

His own childhood home was a tiny apartment in Filmorn, held up by twisted stone pillars and rotting beams. The whole building had probably decayed and crumpled into itself by now. Even if it still stood, he would never return to his family, to his mattress in the kitchen, to his cat. They were gone. 

Was that how she felt now? Did she think she would never see this sprawling manor again? Surely, she could return. She was the empress’ daughter. Whatever she wanted was hers, but she stared at the noble family she was about to depart from with the rue of a woman who knew she was experiencing something for the last time. He mused on what she was thinking. Surely, the Daledans wouldn’t disappear. 

She hesitated to turn away from them. “Maybe I should send another courier to my mother, tell her I’m staying here,” she contemplated. “I’ll build my own castle a mile away and visit every day. It’s so peaceful here, isn’t it?” 

“You would have to renounce your claim to the throne, Your Highness,” Nisa pointed out. “Elanthine would be very happy to hear that.” 

She clapped her advisor’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll renounce my throne and retire here  _ after _ she’s dealt with.” 

Nisa gawked for a moment, then sputtered out a laugh. “Oh! You’re joking.” 

“I wish I wasn’t,” she grumbled. “We’ve visited one house. There are seven more.” 

“The Calemnars are only half a day’s ride away. After that, we’ll be traveling through the countryside for a week. It’ll be time to rest. We could stop for a day if you’re tired, Your Highness,” Nisa suggested. 

“No, Nisa, it’s okay. I don’t want to fall behind schedule. It’s not the traveling that I mind, it’s only…” She lowered her voice. “Who can I trust in the countryside? Those lands were disputed only thirty years ago. They killed my grandparents and my uncle for conquering them, and they hate my mother for keeping them conquered.” 

Jasper cut in. “No one will hurt you, Your Highness. Twenty elite guards are with you, with six thousand reserved. You are surrounded by people willing to die for you.” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” His mistress put her arm around his waist. “If the commoners hear what he is, they’ll kill him, army and guards be damned.”

“Then I’ll tell my forces to be discreet,” Jasper resolved. “No one will know.” 

“Half the empire knows already. All we can do is hope the other half doesn't believe rumors.” She took her hand off him to board their carriage. “Come, it’s time to go.” 

Ascelin found himself missing her touch. His mistress’ blood ran hot, perfect for the spring air. He remembered the way she held him as the doctor stitched him back together. Her skin had been warm on his own. 

She fished a letter from her bodice after she sat down on her side of the carriage. It was unopened, but already wrinkled. She had explained that it was from her mother, and she wanted to wait until she had privacy to read it, so she hid it in her dress. A page boy had delivered it to her in the morning, waking them both. Although after what she revealed over breakfast, she likely didn’t sleep whatsoever last night. 

Guilt overwhelmed him. Ascelin fought back the acid crawling up his throat. If he had opened his eyes and see what was upsetting her, they wouldn’t be in this position. He would have ripped the spy out of the window and strangled her. He had been exhausted, but it wasn’t nearly as awful as it had been with Rosamel. If he was defiant, she kept him awake up to a week at a time. The princess was a benevolent goddess compared to her, and he had neglected to protect her because of a few taxing days. 

She unfolded the letter, reading it quickly the first time, then slowly the second, as if she was unsure of what she was seeing. Whatever it was disturbed her, and Ascelin’s training compelled him to console her. Not the Odium’s training—Rosamel’s. When she was lonely, she fucked him tenderly. When she was angry, she savaged him. 

If his mistress was a woman like Rosamel, he hoped she wasn't angry. 

Her hands trembled while she slid it back into the envelope. The restless drumming of her nails against the seat was maddening. 

“Is there something on your mind, Mistress?” Ascelin hazarded. 

“It’s not good news,” was all she said. “You’re sweet for asking, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.” 

He swept the hair out of his eyes, looking up at her face for a moment. If she was Rosamel, she would kick him to the floorboards. But she was Solace Buliere—good-natured, gentle, and a little cold. Still, far better than his previous masters. 

“You are too good to me, Mistress,” he murmured. She gave him a look that invited him to go on. “You haven’t raised a hand to me, you haven’t hurt me. You treat me well and you protect me.” 

“As is the duty of any master.” She leaned forward to grab his hands. “Would you rather I handle you like a rabid dog?” 

He balked a little and stared down at his lap, not daring to pull away even as his hands began to clam up. “I only meant that I want to be an asset, not a burden.” 

She squeezed his fingers. “And what makes you think you’re a burden?” 

The fabric of his trousers had suddenly become very interesting. “I was taught domestic skills by the Galeth, Mistress, and you haven’t asked anything of me. I told you on the first night, I can launder your clothes, clean your bedchambers, prepare your meals.” 

“I employ laundresses, maids, and cooks for that,” she dismissed. “In Keervan, people aren’t possessions. We aren’t slave drivers. Well, with the exception of me.” 

He faltered and tried something else. “I am a practiced fighter, especially in an arena, and I—” 

“No.” She didn’t have the patience to let him finish the sentence. “I’m not the kind of person to enjoy blood sports. I won’t put you in a ring with someone to watch you be ripped apart. I can put you to better use than that.” 

“What better use? I’m sure you know that the Galeth work in… sex training. Keeping concubines is common practice among those higher in the court, so I’ve heard. I—I’ll gladly serve,” he managed. The words burned his tongue. 

She sneered and tugged away from him. “I’ll forgive you just this once for implying my mother keeps whores, because I know it wasn’t what you meant. The next time you insult my family, I won’t hesitate to punish you.” 

Ascelin was going to be sick. He was going to vomit on his mistress. He scrambled from where he sat to the aisle between the benches. There was just barely space for his long shins as he knelt before her. He wanted to grab her ankles and put his forehead to her shoes, but there wasn’t room. He settled to hold her knees instead, looking at her brocade skirt to avoid her unimpressed glare. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he rasped. 

“You want me to fuck you? Will that make you feel like less of an inconvenience?” 

“If it pleases you, Mistress,” he replied quietly. 

“It won’t. I told you last night, you are my friend. That makes me as likely to fuck you as I am to fuck Nisa, or Gamel.” She cupped his cheek and he winced, anticipating a slap to the face. “I’m happy with you the way you are now. I wasn’t expecting to take care of a slave, yes, but you cause no trouble. You’re good company, not a bother.” 

“Mistress, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I—” 

“You will be one if you suggest something like this again. Oh, don’t look so offended. It’s not because you aren’t pretty.” 

He ducked his head, flushing red. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy.” Solace cupped his face to bring his eyes back up. He gripped her knees tighter. “When your stitches come off, I’ll tell the constable to find you a horse and we’ll ride with the guard. These things,” she patted the carriage seat, “are horribly slow and stuffy.”

She knew she was talking to distract herself from what was to come. The Calemnars were next, the worst of the worst. Or the best, depending on who was asked. The last time she’d visited, her mother was there to shield her with her towering authority and elegant diplomacy. 

But she was on her own, with an Odite slave, too. House Calemnar was a family of vicious vipers. They hadn’t earned their power by bloody force like the Galeth. Their methods were refined. 

Whenever a royal baby was born, all eight noble houses made their pilgrimage to the capitol, Orsten. When Emmet was introduced to the kingdom, two Calemnar loyalists tried to kill him in an attempt to please their liege. Their mother had been livid, almost ripped out the eyes of Lord Calemnar when he defended himself, insisting that he had no part in the plot. In the end, she had forced him to execute the pair of assassins personally, as if the tension between their families wasn’t high enough to begin with. 

They sided with Elanthine during her rebellion, breaking an unspoken Calemnar rule not to ally with a Buliere. After she was exiled, they knelt at the feet of the true empress and swore their loyalty. No one was stupid enough to believe them, but they had a large army and ruled over a wide swath of land. It was better to hold them in a steel grip than discard them and risk an independent Calemnar nation again. 

Every time a Calemnar married, another minor house merged with their lineage. They courted others through intimidation, a hungry thirst for more land, bigger armies, more power. The last time Solace had visited, she was attending one of their weddings as a little girl. Her mother had been quietly furious throughout, not that she showed it. The only people better at disguising their feelings than the Calemnars were the Bulieres, although Solace might be the one to split from the pattern. She was never one to hide her anger. 

“I need to warn you, the next house we’re visiting won’t be kind and ignore you.” She dug her nails into her palms to ground herself. “Like I said, they are worse than the Galeth. As violent as they are, they are loyal to us. The Calemnars are not.” 

Ascelin shrank a little. “What will they do to me, Mistress?” 

“If we’re careful, nothing,” she growled. “As long as you stay by my side, no one will hurt you. These are the last few hours we will be safe. We will only be with them for a day and a half, but they have done much worse in less time. Nightfall is when we arrive, noon the next day is when we leave. I don’t want you more than ten feet from me during that time, do you understand? I need you to be on your best behavior.” 

He swallowed. “Yes, Mistress. But may I ask you why?” 

“The only thing a Calemnar hates more than a Buliere is an Odite. My family hardly compares to their hostility toward your kind. If the Odium took a Calemnar lord instead of a Buliere, the desert on the other side of the sea would be burning. My mother didn’t retaliate because she had the Galeth to do it for her. The Calemnars would have done it themselves.” 

Ascelin’s eyes shot wide. “The language of the Odite and Keervan are similar, Mistress, but not identical. We don’t have a word for Calemnar, but it’s close.  _ Kelamra _ . It has become an umbrella term for… for merciless bitches, Mistress. We fought them for centuries. I thought they were a kingdom of their own?” 

“They were, until my grandparents conquered them thirty years ago. He heard the voices of our ancestors demanding it during a rage, apparently,” she muttered. “I suppose your Berserker king doesn’t bother to inform the masses of the victories of others.” 

“Just Berserker,” he corrected instinctually. “Not Berserker king, Mistress. I’m sorry.” 

She huffed. “Your Berserker is a bandit and a rapist. I’ve heard the stories, but I haven’t heard of any of his conquests past little villages in the tribelands. A little pathetic, if you ask me. Anyone can overtake a tribe.” 

“Most Easterners think the tribes west of the sea are small. They’re not, Mistress. They’re hoards of monsters,” he explained. “He’s bringing them together to unify the western mainland under the Odium.” 

“We have colonies in the western mainland. No one will touch them.” She tipped his head to look at him properly. “You will be with me when I become empress. When I break the Berserker and the Odium, will you be glad?”

He nodded fervently, green eyes shimmering with certainty. “My loyalty belongs to you, Mistress. I only fought in the Odium to survive.” 

“You won’t ever fight to survive again,” she promised. As much as she wanted to see Ascelin Saullo’s skill, she wouldn’t allow it. She was her father’s daughter. “As long as you’re careful with the Calemnars, nothing will happen to you.” 

Fatigue bit at her. After she saw the woman in her window, she hadn’t slept. She hadn’t called for help, either. The risk of alerting the spy was too much. Her guards could reach her in thirty seconds. The spy could shatter the window and slit her throat in five. If Ascelin wasn’t sleeping like the dead, maybe he could have chased her off, but Solace had forced him to Daledan’s Bend with her, and he was beyond spent. 

She eased herself to the far side of the seat and patted her lap. Ascelin got off his knees and laid his head over her thighs. She weaved his hair through her knuckles. It was thick and dark, but not entirely black like hers. His eyebrows, however, were, like someone took a charcoal stick to his face and drew them on delicately. She ran her thumb over his jaw. His eyes were open wide as she traced his face like the first night. 

Her hands trailed under his tunic. Ascelin tensed. She prodded his back, searching for his cuts. They had scabbed nicely. With any luck, he would escape infections with only a few scars. A line of four stitches adorned his left shoulder blade. He would only need them for a few more days. She reached for the stitches under his ribs, brushing his nipple on the way there. He gasped softly, gazing up at her briefly before he came to his senses. She counted the raised bumps on his skin where they were sown. Five of them, healing uniformly. 

Solace brought her fingers back to his nipple in a firm press out of curiosity. Most of the men she had dealt with weren’t so sensitive there from just a simple sweep. 

He yelped this time, firming up under her touch. “A-Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me, Mistress?” 

Maybe she was imagining it, but she heard a twinge of humor in his question. She chuckled. “I never said I didn’t want to. I said I wouldn’t.” 

“Mistress, I… I, uh…” 

“Like I said, you’re pretty. But I own you. You can’t say no to me.” She bent down, lips on his ear. “I’m no model of virtue, Ascelin, but I’m my father’s daughter. I know better.” 

“Of course, Mistress.” 

She sat back upright, removing her hand from his shirt. “You ought to rest before we reach the Calemnars. You’ll need it.” 

He worried his bottom lip. “Surely you don’t plan on sleeping sitting up, Mistress. I can go to the other bench.” 

“I prefer you here. And I’m not sleeping.” She graced him with a somber grin. “I need a clear head when we meet House Calemnar.” 

“But the spy—you didn’t sleep last night,” he protested. 

Solace let out a breath. “I’m in a carriage headed to Castle Calemnar. I can’t sleep today either. I doubt I will until we’re days away from them. You, however, can. Take advantage of that while you’re able.” 

She placed a quilt over him. Ascelin shifted on her lap, grumbling something that sounded like “Yes, Mistress.” It was more of a cat’s purr to Solace. She had heard from her friends that he was called The Lion of Filmorn in the Odium, but this man—this foreign warrior—was a kitten. Her kitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pro tip: You tell apart Solace and Ascelin's POVs by how Solace is addressed. "His mistress" is Ascelin's, and "Solace" is Solace lmao.  
> -  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Elanthine! This happens a month or so before the events of last chapter, but I wanted to introduce the readers to her softer side. 
> 
> Elanthine is pronounced: ee-lan-theen  
> Hanley is pronounced: Han(like Han Solo)-lee  
> And to clear up possible confusion, Ascelin is pronounced: ass-sell-en or ah-sell-en. I have no idea why I made a beloved character only to put ass in his name.

Elanthine Buliere brushed her pet’s hair. He stared at the mirror, not looking at himself, but at her. His gaze was transfixed on her and she laughed, tugging the brush gently. The bristles parted through his blond locks easily. Her boy was always easy, always obedient. She bent down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He grabbed her chin to keep her close and turned his face to kiss her properly before she pulled away. It was bold, but she allowed it. Her pet knew his place. 

“All done, sweetheart.” She ran her fingers through his hair. It looked like the gods had taken a piece of the sun from the sky and wove it into him. Her boy was a star in his own right. 

She guided him off the chair. Her hands went to his waist as he stood, and she kissed him again, fingers roaming down to squeeze his legs. 

His lips curled into a smile against hers. “Thank you, Your Grace. You take such good care of me.”

She patted his bare ass. “Any woman would treat you well if she had the chance, gorgeous. You just happen to belong to me. Now, go get dressed, Hanley. We have lots to do.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

He bent down to pick up the clothes that she’d all but torn off him the night before, displaying the swollen scratches she had left on his thighs. Elanthine smirked. Bastard. What a whore her boy was. He knew exactly what he was doing, the reaction he was getting from her. He tossed the dirty clothes in a basket and leaned innocently over a chest of drawers, ass in the air. Oh, if she wasn’t busy today, she would fuck him incoherent. It would be a change from the poetic and articulate Hanley she was used to. His tongue was skilled in plenty of things. 

Her pet held up an expensive silk shirt so thin that his nipples tented through it. She nodded. He picked out a pair of high-waisted pants that sloped on his curves. She nodded again, much more enthusiastically. That one was her favorite. 

Her pet picked up a set of accessories from the table they had been discarded on hastily last night. He handed her his bracelets and knelt at her feet, turning his wrists up to her. She clasped the gold bracelets on, a symbol of her power over him. His collar came next. More gold, studded with emeralds. Green and gold, as was Keervan’s tradition—her empire’s colors. The ruler wore the jeweled crown, and the consort wore the jeweled collar. 

Bulieres had a… dominant sexual appetite. A ravenous one, too. Not a single Buliere had failed to manifest the pattern of ownership over their partners. She certainly possessed that attribute, if the bruises on her boy’s neck and his puffy lips were anything to go off of. The crown and collar tradition had existed as long as they ruled, thousands and thousands of years. They were the descendants of not one, but two gods. The universe had put them on the throne deliberately, and kept them there. 

_ Wrong Buliere.  _ The wrong Buliere was ruling Keervan, and it enraged Elanthine just thinking about it. It should be her. 

The original crown sat on her bitch of an aunt’s head. The original collar graced her pathetic husband’s neck. If she didn’t reclaim her throne, her spastic cousin and whatever slut she decided to marry would have them next. Elanthine had spared no expense when she ordered the finest smith on the west side of the sea to make copies. Until she sailed back east and took the throne that was rightfully hers, these would be a compromise. Maybe she would replace the originals with her copies. She didn’t want to wear something her usurper aunt did. 

Her pet stood, delicately plucking the imitation crown from the table and placing it on her head. “You’re beautiful, Your Grace.” 

“Thank you. I love you,” she returned. Those words were so familiar on her tongue, they slipped out naturally. 

He smiled, flushing red. His pants were on, but he hadn’t gotten to his shirt yet, fumbling with his belt instead—the same one she’d playfully strapped him with last night. His blush spread to his exposed collarbones. That only made her love him more. They had known each other for over ten years, but each time she said it was like the first time to him. 

“I love you too, my Empress.” He slipped his shirt on and wrapped his arms around her. She melted into his warmth, into her boy. “More than you could ever know.” 

“Oh really?” She tilted her face up to him and gave him a peck on the lips. “Well, I have an idea of how much.” 

He shook his head. “Whatever you’re guessing, Your Grace, it’s more than that. You are everything to me.” 

She hummed into his chest. Her boy wasn’t the tallest of men, but he was above average and a head taller than her. He had stunning looks to match, a reason she chose him. “Aren’t you a good boy? We should just cancel this meeting. I can meet with Lord Wariler some other day.”

“Your Grace, with all the respect you’re due, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he whispered. “I know, I want to stay here with you forever, but you may only have one chance to convince him to champion your cause, and you need allies. His family is powerful. He is a Wariler, my love.” 

“And I am a Buliere, Pet,” she chided. “The Warilers are just like any other noble family in Keervan. Irrelevant. Whatever power they had is gone. That’s the one thing my cunt aunt did right. The only reason I’m seeing him is because of his little fleet. He will wait if I tell him to.”

“And so he will, Your Grace,” he agreed. “Will you tell him to?” 

“No,” she decided after a beat. “I’m not going to take you now, after you’ve dressed yourself up so prettily for me, darling doll. There will be time for that tonight. But I want you to kiss me.” 

He obeyed, only pulling away when he needed to breathe. “Whatever you want is yours,” he gasped out. Oh, poor darling. He couldn’t hold his breath half as long as she could. 

“I want you.” 

“Then I belong to you, my love.” 

“I want to kill the false empress and claim my rightful throne.” 

“And you will have it, my love.”

She pulled his face down by tugging his gold collar. His breath heated her skin. “And I want  _ you  _ to bring me Solace Buliere so I can kill her in this damned land. She doesn’t deserve to die in my Keervan. We should show her a taste of exile.” 

His watery blue eyes faltered. “Then… then I will, my love. I’ll bring her to you. I will do anything you ask of me.” 

“That’s a good boy, Hanley,” she cooed. “Now, let’s see if Lord Warilen will lend me some ships. I’m getting tired of living on the west side of the sea.” 

“They should have exiled you somewhere warmer,” he murmured. Then he froze. That joke touched on a very sensitive subject, and he knew it. “Your Grace, excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

She laughed, a gnarled cackle that betrayed everything she felt. “They shouldn’t have exiled me at all. It would have been smarter to kill me. My aunt must have known I would return to destroy her, but she let me go. Come, Pet. Let’s correct Verity Buliere’s mistakes.” 

He opened the door for her, allowing her to exit first. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

“And let’s correct mine,” she added, looping her arm around his. “I won’t fail this time. I’ll kill Solace first.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

“Then I’ll dethrone my aunt and become the Empress. Do you know what that makes you? Imperial prince consort.” 

He leaned his head on her shoulder while they walked. “That sounds perfect, my love.” 

She grinned, left eye twitching. She could feel the onslaught of her family’s infamous rage already. 

“It will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two so much. If this sneak peak at Elanthine and Hanley is received well enough, I might make a separate series for them, easily digestible one shots when you need your femdom fix. Let me know!  
> -  
> The next chapter will reveal some of what Ascelin endured when he belonged to Rosamel, and we’ll get some hurt/comfort. I’m super excited to write Solace as Ascelin’s solace lmao


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always have so much I want to say in the notes but I forget what they are as soon as I get to the part where I write them. This chapter took so long that I wrote chapter seven to give you something to read while I finished this one.  
> -  
> This one isn't beta read because I finished it at 12:37 am and other people in my life actually sleep. Forgive any errors, especially mixed around pronouns. "He" and "she" tend to blur together for me.  
> -  
> I'm going to link a map of this story's world. Check back for more details later.

Ascelin heard her keys in the lock before he saw her face. She was furious, if the violent clanging was anything to go off of. 

Rosamel flung open the door, heaving ragged breaths. Ascelin would smell her irritation in the air. Her eyes found him immediately, and she approached like a hunter approached a twitching carcass. He scuttled backwards until he smacked his head on a wall. There was nowhere left to run from her. 

He kicked his legs at her as she bent down and grabbed him by the hair. It did as much to stop her as a butterfly trying to flap its wings against a hurricane. 

“P-Please,” he begged. “Not today, Mistress. I’m not ready.” 

As if to prove a point, the scabs on his thighs broke open. Blood seeped through his trousers, turning them red. She had dug the tip of her dagger into his skin as she groped him two days ago, leaving jagged lines behind. He looked like a woman, bleeding between his legs. 

“When the fuck has anyone ever cared if you’re ready?” barked Rosamel. A spray of saliva hit his face as she flung a string of colorful insults at him. 

At some point, he stood to alleviate the pressure on his scalp. She was about to tear his hair out. She smirked and threw him to the ground. He landed hard on his elbows, scraping the skin off. He hissed, but kept inching away from her. 

She crossed his cell in two easy strides, kicking him in the lower back so hard he would piss blood for a few days. He curled into himself, protecting his abdomen. Better to be kicked anywhere but there. She liked to fuck him on his hands and knees, scratching canyons in his belly as she thrust into him. 

“Pathetic slut.”

She was angry. Ascelin hated when she was angry for two reasons. The first was simple; she hurt him when she was angry. The second was not as easy to justify. He had grown to care for her, in his own twisted way. 

There was no one else. His friends were slaves, he hadn’t spoken to them nearly a decade. His family didn’t care, and neither did he. He could barely remember his parents’ names. The kind nurse who tended to his wounds after he crawled out of the arena each day was dead after the Galeth siege on Filmorn. The other council members had been worthwhile company, but they were either dead or indifferent to him. She was one of the two people who visited his cell, even just to hurt him. One of the two people left in the world.

One of the two named ones, at least. Stelson and Rosamel Galeth brought plenty of loyal men and women in to help them. But it seemed she didn’t need anyone’s help to reduce him into a crying, pleading mess. 

“I-I’m sorry, Mistress! I’m sorry!” he mewled weakly. Another blow landed on his shoulder, a heavy  _ thud _ of her boot against his body. He could hardly manage to breathe in between her strikes, much less beg. “Please, mercy! Mercy!” 

Her laugh was light and lyrical, so dissonant against her true nature. “Oh? Mercy? You want mercy? Kneel, then. I’ll show you  _ mercy _ , darling.” 

He staggered to his knees, eyes down. Maybe he should kiss her feet. 

Before he could ask her permission, she swung her fist into his face with all the power of an angry Galeth. He toppled sideways, sprawled on the floor. 

A few months ago, a blow like this would be nothing to him. He wouldn't even sway at the impact. He had considered himself to be stronger than the Odium’s prisoners, who usually broke after half a year of torture. He watched them scream at the whip or succumb to starvation and promised himself he was better. How wrong he was. Rosamel took only a month to flay the warrior skin from him, leaving only a mangle of bones. 

The ground wobbled beneath him, spots of darkness exploding in his vision. Rosamel didn’t think to feed him most of the time, and water was a luxury he had to ration. The cell swirled around him, or maybe he was the one moving. He couldn’t tell the difference through his dehydrated delirium. 

Ascelin’s teeth had cut into his mouth when she hit him. Blood stained his teeth. He rolled his tongue to ignore the taste of copper in his mouth, but there was too much of it. 

“Get up,” she ordered. “I’m giving you a bath. You’re filthy.” 

He hadn’t left the cell in weeks, but dirt and sweat covered him. A bath would be a welcome relief, if it weren’t for the memory of what she did to him the last time she let him bathe. The scalding water had been unforgiving to his wounds, and the soaps stung his skin, and those were the better parts of it. He could still feel what she did to him. He felt it between his legs and around his throat. 

She unchained him from the wall. A metal collar rested on his neck, connected to the chain. She held it like a leash. The collar chafed so horribly he feared it would wear down to expose his collarbones. A pair of manacles were locked on his wrists, another set on his ankles. Rosamel only kept the collar chained, using the manacles only when she wanted to arrange him in an unbearable contortion while she fucked him. Restraining his limbs was unnecessary. They both knew he wouldn’t resist. 

Ascelin ground his teeth as glass shards and pebbles dug into his bare feet. Unevenly-laid bricks caught his toes and he stumbled. The lowest level of the Galeth castle couldn’t exactly be called a dungeon, but it was damn close. It wasn’t meant to hold prisoners, but Rosamel had a cell built for him. 

They passed the crypt and the vault, entering a dusty storage chamber. She pointed to a wooden bathtub, more of an oversized bucket, really. The bath was already drawn. 

She unhooked the chain from his collar. “Take off your clothes.” 

Rosamel didn’t hide her staring as he struggled to tug his tunic and trousers over his shackles. Her right hand snaked down to his ass, her left went to his cock. He whined into her mouth as she kissed him, hating the way his body reacted to her. She stroked him roughly, shoving her tongue in his mouth. He let himself go pliant, let his mind wander anywhere but here. Ignore the pain, ignore the humilation, ignore his own fucking mind, and he would be okay. 

She slipped two fingers in him, dry. He yelped and thought of the tiny kitten he had found a week before the Odium stole him. If she was still alive, she would be an old stray, on the streets again. Knowing his parents, they wouldn’t have kept her. They might have even sold her for a pocketful of coins to buy quellec. 

She bit his lip and he winced. He thought of the drug that ravaged Filmorn. It was named after a word in the Old Tongue,  _ quellan,  _ meaning cloud. Or maybe it was storm, he wasn’t sure after so many years. His parents let him sample some of their stash only once. They didn't want to share. Quellec was the powderized roots of a native sea flower, usually mixed into candy. All he remembered was how it ruined the chocolate and left an explosion of colors swimming in his vision for days.

She scissored her fingers apart and he clenched his toes. He thought of the wars he fought. He missed the thrill of battle, the rhythm of his own heart as he cut through enemy lines. He was a good soldier—an even better ring fighter. He missed the smell of someone else’s blood and the roar of an audience. 

Rosamel ordered him into the water, finished teasing him for the time being. It wasn’t scalding like last time, or frigid like the time before. It was pleasantly warm, scented with rose oil. Shit. That meant she planned on joining him. She wasn’t giving him a bath for a bath’s sake. She wanted something worse. 

She sloughed off her clothes. There must have been at least four layers in her dress alone, not to mention her linen shift and underthings. She joined him in the tub, climbing on top of his thighs. She brushed against his cock and snickered like it was a threat. 

Her hands went to his hair, crudely scrubbing the dirt from his scalp. He thought of the women he’d met in the bathhouses of Filmorn. They were gentle with the Lion of Filmorn. For a horde of savages united under the conquering flag of the Odium, the women were strikingly soft. Maybe it was only because they wanted the famed fighter’s attention. 

Rosamel Galeth was far from a gentle Odite woman. And he was nothing of the lion he used to be. She brought him back to the present with a nip to his ear. He whimpered as she sank down on his cock, gripping the sides of the tub. What came next wouldn’t be tender or loving. 

She slammed herself down on him again and again, and he couldn’t think anymore. She plunged his head under the water by holding his neck down, and he couldn’t breathe, either. He wanted to throw her off. He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to crush her face with his fists. He wanted to breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking  _ breathe.  _ He couldn’t— 

She took her hands off his throat and he shot back up, sputtering and coughing and gasping for breath. She rolled her hips, arched her back. He gagged on the rose-scented water, which was beginning to go dark from the grime on him. Rosamel didn’t seem to mind the dirt. She only fucked him harder. 

“Aren’t you a pretty thing, bitch?” Rosamel taunted. “Such a cute darling.”

“Mistress, please,” Ascelin croaked. If he wasn’t supporting both their weights, he would be holding his neck. It was throbbing with his heartbeat. “Don’t do that again,  _ please _ .” 

His knuckles were white with the exertion of holding them up while she rode him. She took him by the throat again, driving his face under. 

_ No, no, no _ .  _ Pleasepleasepleaseplease. _

He tried to hold his breath, but she was intent on squeezing the air out of him. An agonizing burn erupted in his chest. His lungs hurt. His nose hurt. He was about to lose his grasp on the tub when she yanked him up. 

“I—” He coughed a mouthful of water on Rosamel. “Stop! Please, Mistress, enough!” 

“I decide when you’ve had enough,” she growled. 

She forced him down again, and again, and again. Nose stinging, eyes running, he couldn’t even beg her to stop anymore. Water gushed up his nose, in his mouth, into his lungs. 

He lost count at four. More than four times, being submerged until he thought he would die, and then brought up again. Each time was longer. She was testing his limits, and he was about to fail. 

Ascelin wheezed, head dizzy and limbs feeble. He had weakened his grip on the tub and collapsed. She sunk them both down without him to hold them up. His head barely reached the air. Water rushed through his nose, burning like hell. 

“Let’s try something different,” Rosamel decided. She must have cum while she was riding him, but he didn’t notice in his panic. 

She stepped out of the water, naked body dripping as she fished through her discarded dress. He took the opportunity to sit up properly and brush his wet hair back, panting hoarsely. She found what she was looking for, her dagger. The blade was short and thin, unable to do much damage. Meant for him. It was meant to cut him open just enough to satisfy her, but not enough to kill him. 

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, leaning his head on the edge of the tub. He knew the pain was about to come. He knew it intimately. 

Not the thighs. He hoped it was anywhere other than his thighs. They were marked up badly enough. He squeezed his legs together, like that would have protected them. 

The water sloshed around them as she returned, spinning the knife between her hands. 

She put her blade to his collarbone. He clenched his jaw so tight his ears began to ring. Good, he didn’t want to hear what she was doing to him. He kept his eyes closed too. He didn’t want to see it. 

Ascelin kept every muscle stretched taut, tried to keep his body together as he was cut open. He was already bleeding from his scabbed thighs, turning the water a rosey shade of pink. 

“Look at me, darling,” Rosamel chirped. All the tension in her was gone. Whatever had caused her to be so angry before she stormed into his cell didn’t bother her anymore. Each swipe of the dagger against his skin relaxed her further. “I want to see your pretty green eyes. Good boy. Just like that.” 

He opened his eyes. Blood dripped into the water, staining it a more severe red. It wasn’t pristine in the first place, and his blood wasn’t helping. Red swirls bloomed from his wounds like paint. 

She laughed, a wicked giggle—and he knew what she was about to do. He tried to clamber out of the tub, but she caught him and shoved him into the water face-down. He tried to buck her off, but he was losing strength quickly. He kicked desperately against the wood, not that it did any help. 

He opened his mouth on instinct, overriding his mind when he ran out of air, and began to suffocate. 

She let him breathe again, one last time before she let him die. He knew it was the last time because when she wrenched his head around to look at her, her skin smooth, pale skin was burnt black, her blue eyes equally dark. Her teeth were filed into fangs that she ran her tongue over. Her straight brown hair curled like snakes, smoke rising from her scalp. 

Her back snapped in a dozen places as it contorted into an awful hunched shape.  _ Crack, crack, crack _ . She mashed her fangs together, but they were closer to needles as each moment passed.  _ Clink, clink, clink _ . Her black eyes smoldered with something. With fury, with delight, with pleasure at what she was about to do. 

She had become the monster the other children told him about in his youth, when he was a glorified waif. 

It would be over soon. It always ended like this. She became a disfigured monster, and then she killed him. Ascelin was going to die. He was going to drown in this damned bathtub, in his blood, tears, and grime. In the rose-scented water Rosamel loved so much. He was going to fucking die. 

His skin charred where she touched him and he screamed, bubbles bursting around his mouth. The searing spread to the rest of his body, until his flesh was only a charcoal case for his skeleton. He split at the cuts Rosamel had given him, and after that, it was like ice cracking open. Ascelin was crumbling apart while he drowned.

_ Not like this,  _ he had the presence of mind to beg, even if no one could hear him.  _ Please, not like this. Not like this. Please…  _

There were no gods to answer his prayers. 

  
  


Solace stopped her pacing for the seventh time when she heard another anguished yelp come from her slave. He was splayed out on the bed, gasping for breath and tossing back and forth. She had given up on trying to wake him. No amount of poking at him seemed to rouse him. 

She had hoped that if she allowed him to sleep in the luxurious bed the Calemnars provided her, he would wake up less jumpy. They had spared no expense in accommodations for the empress’ daughter, and maybe a night of proper rest would relax him. 

She could hardly bear to be the source of someone’s anxiety… especially Ascelin’s. He got along well enough with her friends, but whenever she approached, all the joy would leave him. She hated it. She hated the effect she had on him. It was her father’s nature to nurture and comfort anyone who needed it, and Solace supposed it was hers as well. 

Ascelin rolled over on his tummy, displaying the cuts littered on his back as his shirt rode up. She sat next to him on the bed, grazing her fingers along the wounds. Nothing about this man made sense, a sport-fighter who became a leader of the people who took his freedom in the first place, who smuggled food to the newly enslaved at the risk of floggings, who was captured by the Galeth and tortured—but not quite broken, who spoke up against her to save a little boy’s life, even if he injured himself. 

Was he a good person or not? She couldn’t tell. Nothing about him was absolute. Not his obedience, not his strength. Nothing. 

She supposed she wasn’t the most cohesive person either. She was a Buliere with a heart—or at least she hoped she was. That was a contradiction enough on its own, not even considering she was worried about a man she  _ owned,  _ a man who’s people destroyed her brother. 

Her fingers wandered further down, to grace his long legs. His good looks had not escaped him. If Ascelin was the fat old man she was expecting to receive, she would have tasked him to some servant and abandoned him. But he wasn’t, the man lying in front of him was an  _ Orianne.  _ In the dead tongue, it translated to ‘perfect image of beauty,’ as imperfect as he was. He was a creation of the goddess of beauty, Oriadne.

Solace wasn’t an idiot. She knew exactly what she wanted from him, exactly what she wanted to give him, but she wouldn’t take nor give. She knew better. She would be disgusted with herself. 

He whined when she brushed the inside of his thighs, clenching them closed. She hadn’t meant to go that close to his… 

She wasn’t very familiar with the particular brand of torture the Galeth employed, only how effective it was. She had seen the products of the Galeth, vacant shells. A month with the Galeth was enough time to utterly break a person, and he had been with them for several. Yet he was an intact person. As close to intact as he could be, anyway.

“My  _ Orianne _ ,” she murmured. 

Solace slid her hand up his shirt, feeling the stitches on his back again, fearing that he had broken the sutures with all his moving. The stitches held, wounds healing nicely. 

She remembered how she felt as she watched him scale that brutal cliff and brave that frigid river, to save a little boy he didn’t even know. Pride, anxiety, admiration, agitation, and she had only known him for one day. It was past midnight, the fifth day. In only five days, some sort of attachment had formed. She wouldn’t let him put himself in danger if someone needed his help again. Her heart just couldn’t take that risk. 

That was an issue. She was too close to him, a man she barely knew. A stranger. 

_ It’s okay _ , she promised herself. As long as she kept him safe, her fondness for him wouldn’t be a problem. Elanthine was gone, but that didn’t mean that Mira’s fate wouldn’t recur with Ascelin. There were plenty of people who wanted to hurt him. He was an Odite on the wrong side of the sea. But as long as she kept him close, no one could touch him but her. She could have this, this pet of a man, this contradiction of a person, a survivor of the Galeth. She could have him as her own. 

“Mistress, please,” he whimpered. 

She froze, thinking he was awake. “Ascelin?” 

He began tossing back and forth in the bed again, and she realized he was still asleep. The nightmare was getting worse. His expression was contorted into a distressed grimace. She nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him again. 

There was nothing he could do. No... she wasn’t out of options. There were ways she could soothe him. She brushed the hair that had fallen into his face away. It was plastered to his skin with sweat. A pitcher of water sloshed on the nightstand as he bucked in the bed. She moved it to a desk to keep him from spilling it. 

He was writhing now, moaning and wailing into the pillows, throaty cries of pain. What was he dreaming of, to cause him so much misery? 

She touched the scars on his back again. She wanted to know the story of each of them. They wouldn’t be pleasant stories, but she wanted to hear them. Some of them, she could guess. Straight, raised bumps from canes. Pale, thin lines from blades. Jagged mountains from glass. Inflamed indents in semi-circles from bites. Criss-crossed scars slashed across his skin in broad blows. Whips. 

His eyes snapped open. 

“No!” he choked. “Please, no. No!” 

Where was he? What was happening? He remembered. Mistress, drowning him, fucking him, cutting him open. Was he in his cell again? Was he still in the tub? He couldn’t feel the water anymore, that damned water. That was good. A good sign. 

Then why couldn’t he breathe? It was a good sign! 

“Ascelin.” 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking  _ breathe _ . 

“Ascelin, are you awake?”

Hands were on him. Her hands. And he panicked. He knew who it was, and he needed to get away. He needed to fucking get away. He thrashed frantically, as far from her as he could manage, tangling himself in something. A large expanse of fabric. A blanket. 

A blanket? 

He opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy, a beautifully woven tapestry hanging over a lavishly large bed. He tried to move, tried to run, but he was stuck in a mess of linen and his own sweat, like the bed was a trap. And it was. She was the most brutal in a bed, the most creative with her torture. 

_ Get away. Get away right now, before she cuts you, or rapes you, or whips you, or worse,  _ demanded what remained of his will to survive. 

His ears were ringing like the shriek of a whistle. He still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fucking  _ breathe. _ He panted, chest surging up and down. He needed to get out. He scrambled away, putting all of his force into putting as much distance between him and her voice as possible. 

_ Please, no _ . 

She was going to cut him, strip him down and fuck him until he bled between his legs, smack him until his head went fuzzy. 

_ Don’t do it. Don’t fucking touch me.  _

“Ascelin, it’s me.” 

Her. Rosamel. It was Rosamel Galeth, and she was going to hurt him. He wrenched himself away, unable to look at her. If he saw her face, he would go mad. He would lose control and shred her into pieces with his bare hands. It was too familiar. The pain, her face—they went together. He wasn’t safe. 

A hand reached out to him. He inched away desperately, but the blanket was caught between his legs and around his waist. He couldn’t get away, but he had to try. He had to fucking get away. 

“Say something. Are you okay? You look sick.” She touched him, a light brush on his shoulder, and he paled. 

“No,” he whimpered. “Please, Mistress. Please don’t.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Blanket be damned, he moved. He clambered off the bed and knelt on the floor at her feet. “Please,” he said, voice low and raw. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for. For waking her up? For being a pathetic slut? For being an Odite? He was apologizing for it all, though she wasn’t a forgiving woman. 

“What are you talking about?” She took a knee on the floor to lower herself to the same level as him. “What’s wrong?” 

Ascelin blinked. Her nightgown was yellow. Rosamel loathed yellow things. Her hair was black, coiled in relaxed waves. Rosamel’s hair was brown, and unforgivingly straight. Her hazel eyes glimmered at him, confused and concerned. Rosamel’s were ice blue and cold. 

“Mistress!” He cried. “Mistress, it’s  _ you _ .” 

Solace Buliere chuckled. “Well who else would it be?” 

“I—I thought you were someone else and… and I’m so glad it’s you,” he managed through the lump in his throat. 

Her soft, silk nightgown soaked up his tears. He wrapped his arms around her legs, clutching them as tight as he could. His mistress wasn’t the kindest woman, but she wasn’t Rosamel Galeth, and he needed her. He needed her warmth, her comfort, anything. Anything at all. 

And she provided. She let him sob into her while he knelt at her feet, rocking him slowly back and forth. 

“M-Mistress.” He grappled at her skirt. 

“Shhh, shhh,” she cooed. “You’re okay.” 

She stroked his hair, massaging his scalp and his neck. He dissolved in her touch. When was the last time someone had treated him like this? Who had ever been so gentle with him? Not Rosamel, who hated him more than the Odite hated another year of drought. Not his sponsors in the Odium, who paid to fuck him between his rounds in the arena. Not the women he slept with of his own free will, who only wanted him for his body. 

The only person who ever behaved like this with him was his lover. His only lover, Kalene. She was the daughter of one of his owners, a warlord. She was the first person to show him tenderness, and he lapped it up like a dehydrated dog. 

Ascelin thought it would be forever. He was sixteen, a soldier, but an idiot. And then her father sold him, and he never saw her again. 

She was touching him without hurting him. Looking at him without judging him. That was something he wasn’t used to. His mistress was acting like Kalene.

_ A lover. She treats me like a lover _ . Or at least, that’s how it appeared. His experience with intimacy beyond sex was… limited. Ascelin’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know what to think. 

“Come, sit on the bed with me,” she beckoned when his breath stopped hitching and his tears stopped forming. He obeyed, getting up on unsteady feet. “What were you dreaming of?” 

He hesitated. “I—uhm, I don’t think you want to know, Mistress.” 

She raised a brow. “Oh? You aren’t the one to decide what’s suited to me. You were crying in your sleep, calling for me, I think I deserve to know.” 

“Please, Mistress,” he tried. “It was just a bad dream. It wouldn’t interest you.” 

“I won’t ask a second time,” she warned. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he relented. “I… I wasn’t calling for you. It was the woman who owned me before you.”

“Her name?” 

“Rosamel Galeth.” 

Her gentle sympathy darkened, hardened to hatred so quickly and so severely he was expecting the candlelight to go out. His mistress looked like she was about to strangle someone. “My cousin. You belonged to the craziest bitch on the east side of the sea?” 

The hairs on his body stood up. “She—She’s not! She’s not a bitch, Mistress. She comes from a respectable family. The first child of one of the highest lords in the empire. She… she’s…” 

She sighed. “That’s exactly what a crazy bitch would tell her slave. She’s a crazy bitch, say it.” 

“She’s a… a…” 

“Go on.” 

“A crazy bitch,” he rasped. His tongue felt like rot, like he had scorned the names of the gods. 

He felt a thousand cold claws ripping into him.  _ Wrong, wrong, wrong,  _ echoed his mind. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have obeyed his current mistress and betrayed his last. Rosamel would stuff a dead sparrow in a mouth and sew his lips shut if she heard what he said.

“A crazy bitch of a cousin on the east side of the sea, and another on the west.” She patted his cheek gently. “My luck isn’t the best, and neither is yours. Rosamel Galeth, an owner. I can’t imagine she treated you very well.” 

“She, uh—She treated me how I deserved, Mistress,” he said quickly, desperate to talk about anything else. 

Ascelin swallowed, realizing how dry his mouth was. Like she could hear his thoughts, she stood and poured him a glass of water from a pitcher on the desk. 

“Drink.” 

He gulped it down gladly. When he was finished, she took the glass back, almost like she was the one serving him. Unease and discomfort swirled in his gut like a tangle of snakes. 

“Where are we?” He looked around the unfamiliar room. He had fallen asleep in the carriage on his mistress’ lap, hadn’t he? They were in a large bedchamber now, with brocade wallpaper and wide windows with the curtains drawn, likely a precaution against more spies. No sunlight filtered through the cracks in the fabric. 

“Castle Calemnar. You were still sleeping when we arrived and I didn’t want to wake you, so I had Jasper carry you in.” She chuckled. “He says you’re heavy, by the way.” 

He frowned. “Did you leave me to sleep alone when you greeted the Calemnars, then?” 

“No. I told them I would see them tomorrow.” She glanced at the clock. “Today, actually. It’s past midnight. I’m not letting you out of my sight, especially in this place.” 

“You missed your meeting with the merciless for me? The  _ Kelamra  _ earned their name in the Odium for a reason, Mistress. Their name means merciless,” he reminded her, timidly bowing his head. 

She huffed. “Yes, they’re Calemnars, or  _ Kelamra _ , in your language. But I am a Buliere. I can do whatever I please, and they will be the ones to adjust. It’s just a greeting party, a simple formality. You don’t need to look so worried about it. We’ll see them tomorrow.” 

“Yes, Mistress,” he said. “I only think… I think that you shouldn’t anger powerful people because you’re taking care of me. I’m a slave.” 

“How selfless,” she remarked. “That seems to be an instinct of yours, selflessness. You saved that little boy and cut yourself up badly. You didn’t want to stop for the night to rest after that. And now you’re telling me not to take care of you.” His mistress pushed his shirt up to examine his scars. “You told me you got these cane marks in the Odium because you were stealing food for the recruits.” 

He shuddered as she traced each bump on his spine. She placed her palm above his heart. Like a cup full of tea warming his body from the inside out, the tension in him dissolved. 

She smiled softly to herself. “You’re about to collapse of exhaustion. Take those sweaty clothes off and change into proper nightwear. When Jasper carried you in you were still wearing day clothes, and I couldn’t get them off you with all that moving you were doing.” 

He took off his pants and tunic, toeing off his shoes. She made a  _ tsk  _ sound, and his undergarments came off as well. He blushed furiously. His mistress was the Princess of Keervan. Undoubtedly, she had seen dozens of naked men. This was nothing special to her. That didn’t comfort him like he thought it would. He… he wanted to be something special to her. 

He caught his clothes in midair as she tossed them to him from the other side of the room, where their bags were. They fluttered in the air, almost unable to make it across the enormous bedroom with a simple throw. He pulled the simple cotton nightclothes on and went to kneel at her feet. 

The Calemnars were rich, even by his learned standards after gaining power in the Odium. He was used to decadence and showy grandeur, but this was something else. The floor was split level, with the lower sinking down to accomodate a miniature sitting room. On the higher level was the bed. It could easily sleep a dozen, maybe more. The desk in the corner had two sides, but he doubted his mistress dealt with paperwork very often. The walls were framed with ebony, the most expensive wood in the world. To match, the furniture was gilded gold. 

When he was a council member in the Odium, he spent hours hearing about the  _ Kelamnra _ , the second biggest threat to their territory, other than the Bulieres themselves. The  _ Kelamnra _ had a dangerous army and ruled a wide swathe of land and loathed his people, but no one had ever mentioned anything about money. He could see why the Odium was so threatened by them Threatened enough to give their name a new meaning in their language. Merciless. 

He peered out of the window, admiring the castle. It was more of a palace, really. A castle was supposed to be a stone-and-mortar keep, not a vulgar display of wealth. The Buliere Palace in the capitol was much bigger, but not much richer. No wonder she was so uneasy, money was power, and the Calemnars rivalled hers in wealth. 

In the darkness, he couldn’t make out much, but there weren’t any spies, either. Not in the window, at least. That was good news. 

“Come, Ascelin, get off your knees. You need to rest before tomorrow to be at your best around the Calemnars.” 

He hummed, putting his face against her belly. She laughed lightly, allowing it.  _ I like her laugh _ . “Just a few more minutes at your feet, Mistress?”

“Fair enough. Just a little while longer. But I hope you know it’s hard to say no when you ask that way.” 

“I can’t help it,” he mumbled. 

He could sleep kneeling if she allowed him to. That nightmare—Rosamel Galeth drowning and fucking him—recurred every few days, but it wasn’t so bad when he had his mistress to wake up to instead of an empty cell. She was better than anything he could have ever asked for, really. He was expecting a woman just like the Empress of Keervan. Bloodthirsty, ruthless, only younger. She was neither. At least, not yet. And she was no Rosamel. She wouldn’t be putting nightmares in his head. 

He just enjoyed her heat, the heat and love of another person. Not that she loved him, but there was a connection there, something undeniable and human. That was something he hadn’t had in a long time, not since Kalene, and he was only sixteen then. He was twenty-four now. It had taken him eight years to find another person who cared. 

And she did care, didn’t she? She was keen on protecting him, she called him pretty, she had only known him for five days, and she was touching him like this.  _ A person who acts like this must care,  _ he rationalized, like her affection was everything he’d ever wanted. 

She kept her word, helping him to his feet about five minutes later. He laid his head over her lap as she sat on the bed. “I’m staying awake. If there’s another spy, I’ll be ready. And I can’t sleep so close to the Calemnars, anyway.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

He felt like an idiot for mistaking her for his previous mistress. She smelled of citrus, her skin was silky, her teeth were pearly, her eyes were bright. Rosamel smelled of roses, gave him bruises each time she touched him, was fond of sinking her teeth into him, and her eyes flashed with madness. One of them was a princess, and the other was a disgraced noble. 

He decided he missed her voice after ten minutes of silence. “Mistress…” he began, yawning before he could finish the sentence. “You said you had a… a uhm... crazy bitch on each side of the sea. If Rosamel is the one on the east, who is in the west?” 

Ascelin had a good idea of the answer, from what Jasper told him. 

“Elanthine Buliere. The daughter of my mother’s older brother, which makes her my cousin, but she’s hardly family. She tried to dethrone my mother when I was seventeen.” 

So he was right. “What happened to her?” 

“She hoped to persuade me to join her cause, but of course I didn’t. She underestimated me and I was the reason she was captured and exiled. Neither I nor my mother had the heart to kill a Buliere, and my brother pleaded for her life.” 

“But after what she did to your friend—” 

“Hmph, so you’ve been asking for information, haven’t you? Was it Jasper, Nisa, or Gamel? I know Tristan wouldn’t talk to you.” 

“Jasper,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I was only curious because you were so upset. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

“I’ll have to speak to Jasper tomorrow,” she noted. “I can’t have him telling stories, even if you’re the audience. Some things should stay buried. Next time you’re curious, ask me directly, do you understand?” 

He nodded. “Yes, Mistress. And I am curious. How did you capture Elanthine?” 

Her expression darkened. “That is between me and Orstenthe.” 

“Orstenthe,” Ascelin echoed. “Like Orsten. You named your capital city for a god?” 

“Our capital was founded by Orstenthe. It’s only natural we honor him with our capital city. My bloodline was founded by him as well, that’s why we’ve ruled for so long.” 

“There’s a god in your bloodline?” He looked up at her—awed—head still in her lap. The lap of a god’s descendant. 

“Two,” she corrected. “Orstenthe, the god of reason and creation was the first. A thousand years later, Celiose, the goddess of passion and destruction produced an heir with a Buliere man. That’s who I’m named for. Celiose… Solace. We’ve ruled for four thousand years because the gods want us on the throne.” 

“You weren’t named because of your kindness?” 

She shook her head, bending down to kiss his nose. His stomach flipped painfully in his abdomen. “No, I grew into my name. My mother chose Solace to honor Celiose, and because I was her first child after three miscarriages. I was a message from the gods to carry on, I suppose.” 

A message from the gods to carry on for the empress. That’s what she was to him as well. 

“I’ll tell you stories of my empire and my people tomorrow. You ought to rest now, pet. Do you trust me not to hurt you?” 

“Yes, Mistress,” he promised. This time, he was telling the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for the Calemnars next chapter? There's a very good reason Solace despises them so much.  
> -  
> And hurray! Ascelin is pining after Solace, and he doesn't know it yet. I loved writing Solace as a comforting figure almost as much as I loved introducing you to Rosamel, even if it's only in a nightmare. We'll see her eventually, though. We'll see both crazy cousins.  
> -  
> PS: Ascelin's native language is very close to Solace's. That's why he calls the Calemnars the Kelamnra. The Odium has been at war with the Calemnars for so long they have their own term for them, meaning enemy or ruthless.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by my girl, Tak138! I suppose sanguia gets credit too for listening to me agonizing over Solace. 
> 
> This chapter is very long and almost all plot, so expect more Solace/Ascelin interactions next chapter, although don't be expecting that too soon because I'll be working on gifts for the lovely ladies mentioned above. I've included a little TLDR if you don't want to read the plot bits.

“I’m about to suffocate in this dress,” Solace griped. “Surely, there must be something less restrictive than this.” 

Nisa looked up from her book and chuckled. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but these are the dresses your mother chose for you. Empress’ orders are absolute, even if you’re her daughter.” 

“Bullshit, she paid someone to pick them for her. Do you really think  _ Her Imperial Grace _ would bother to choose one dress for me, much less three carriages full?” She huffed. “When I’m home, I’m dismissing whoever she hired.” 

Solace scratched through the soft fabric and at the unforgiving corset. The gown was ugly, tasteless blue, and nearly shapeless, compared to what she was used to. It was ten years out of fashion, with the neckline halfway up her throat and clingy long sleeves. The shoulders were the worst. They puffed up. It was held together in the front by black laces. 

The uncomfortable wire cages that gave skirt shape had gone out of fashion twenty years ago. As a little girl, she would admire her mother’s collection of ballgowns. The empress wasn’t a sentimental woman, but she kept the dresses from her wedding, coronation, and other events of the sort. Solace had loved trying them on long ago, but she was thankful she didn’t have to wear them now. 

“This dress is ridiculous.” She spun around again, and the gown flayed out. “Why are beautiful things so difficult?” 

Nisa smirked while Solace stumbled on the fabric. “The gods love making things difficult, Your Highness.” 

Solace turned around and grabbed the dress by its neckline, beginning to tear. A smirk spread across her face.

“Wait, Your Highness!” Nisa threw her book down to stop her. “What are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking it off.” 

“You’re ripping it open!” she protested. “That dress costs more than I make in a year, and you’re the one who salaries me!” 

Solace stopped. “Oh, well, in that case, you can have this one.” 

“It’s ripped,” Nisa pointed out. 

Solace flashed an evil smile. “Maybe that servant girl you’ve been eyeing since we left will notice you if you wear a ripped dress.” 

Her best friend flushed red, half shocked, half enraged. “I… You…” she sputtered. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, you know,” she chided. “I notice things. You can have this dress, if it upsets you so much to see it destroyed.” 

“It’s ripped,” she repeated. 

Solace turned around, pulling the neckline down to reveal a perfectly intact dress and a shredded shift underneath. She burst into a guffaw, shoving Nisa’s shoulder lightly. “Oh, the look on your face! You were about commit regicide.” 

“You destroyed a shift to play a trick on me?” she demanded. 

“A good trick. You’re entertaining when you’re angry. This shift was too old anyway. Better to cut up into bandages or something.” Solace fumbled with the buttons on the back of her bodice. “Now, help me take this ugly gown off.” 

Nisa crouched down to unbutton the dress from bottom-up while Solace started from the top. “They’re going to be by expensive bandages, Your Highness. It’s made of the finest Jaarvan silk, and you just tore it up!” 

The ugly gown came off in heaps on the floor. She stepped out of it, wearing only hosiery, the ripped old chemise, and outrageously high heels. 

Ascelin flushed and turned away, putting his back to her. He had begged to be left outside while she put on her dress because seeing his mistress naked wasn’t proper for a slave. She had told him she wasn’t letting him out of her sight and left it at that. Usually, a person would be curious as to why she was so dangerously protective, but he only bowed his head and submitted. Solace wondered if Jasper told her slave about Mira as well. That would explain why he didn’t ask any more questions. 

Nisa gave Solace a look. Solace returned it.  _ What?  _ She mouthed. 

“Nothing, Your Highness. I just think you have a very well trained slave,” she whispered. Whatever conversation they were about to have, it would have to be quiet. Ascelin was sitting only a few feet away. 

“Rosamel Galeth trained him.” 

Her mouth fell open a little. “Rosamel Galeth raped him, you mean,” she corrected quietly. “She raped him into doing whatever she wants. When I heard Lord Galeth trained him personally, I was hoping Rosamel wasn’t involved. Madness breeds madness. Ascelin should be a mess in a madhouse right now, if she touched him.”

Solace sighed. “I know, but he’s not. I’m surprised he’s not. He defied me the second day I had him, when he was saving that little boy. I tried to keep him back, but he coerced me to let him go. That doesn’t sound like one Rosamel’s… trainees.”

Nisa nodded. “I heard that from Gamel. He told me you were angry. I’m surprised you didn’t execute him for his defiance.” 

“I was more impressed than angry,” she confessed. “Do you remember that one boy? Nico, I think his name was. Rosamel came to visit the palace when we were girls and we found him naked in her guest bed.” 

“I do, Your Highness. He was six years older than her and she just—” Nisa shuddered, “she overpowered him.” 

“All the Galeth know is power. Fucking savages,” she hissed. “I should have them herded up when I’m empress,  _ deal  _ with them.” 

Nisa grimaced and held up a hand. “You don’t have to elaborate, Your Highness. It’s what your mother wants you to do, anyway. Deal with the nobles.” 

Solace’s head jerked to the right to look at her. “How the fuck do you know that?” 

Her voice was loud enough to make Ascelin look back at them, a protective fire on his face. He was about to snap Nisa’s neck from the tone of his mistress’ words alone. Warmth spread through her belly, then her heart. Her slave was so eager to defend her, so eager to leap out of the corner he stood and prove his devotion.

Solace waved him off. There was nothing to defend her from. If anything, Nisa was the one who needed protection. Ascelin flushed and turned back after he realized he was staring at her nearly bare legs. 

“Tell me how you know my mother’s plan for me.” Solace’s voice was low again, dangerous. Something whispered to her, beckoning her to succumb to anger. The rage, her family’s hereditary rage. 

She shoved it away—far, far away—before she did something she would regret. She had heard the stories, the legends of what her ancestors had done in the grasp of the rage. 

“Her Grace tells me many things, Your Highness.” Nisa’s response was steady and measured. Her best friend wasn’t afraid of her, heir to Keervan or not. 

“That’s right,” she said slowly, swallowing back the anger, the paranoia. “She told you about this trip, and she told you its purpose before she ever brought it up to me. That’s suspicious, considering my mother doesn’t like you. I’ve never known her to trust a commoner with secrets, unless she wasn’t the one to tell you at all.” 

“If you’re suggesting I have spies, Your Highness, you should know I can’t afford them on the salary you pay me.” 

She crossed her arms. “Are you asking for a raise? Now, of all times? What else do you know, Nisa?” 

“Many things,” she said again. “I am your advisor, I have to know things.” 

“We both know you’re only my advisor because you’re my best friend.” 

Nisa clenched her jaw to hide the wobbling of her lips. “Are you suggesting I’m not capable of advising you, Your Highness?” 

“I’m suggesting you shouldn’t keep my own secrets from me.” 

“I… I’m…” Nisa swore under her breath, turning red. “May I be dismissed, Your Highness?” 

“Go. And send in servants. I’m putting on a different dress.” 

A parade of maids bustled in a moment later, arms full of dresses. They were the maids she herself employed, not the barely-dressed young men and women she had seen working in Castle Calemnar. Blue and black were the colors of House Calemnar. It was tradition that guests wore the colors of the host, so she set any maid carrying a dress of other colors away.

They stared openly at Ascelin as they left. Solace was tempted to march over to where he sat and kiss him. 

_ Not that I want to kiss him, _ she chided herself, trying not to remember how right it felt to kiss his nose last night.  _ He was just suffering. I was just comforting him _ . 

That would give them something to gossip about. She had never been one to stand in a circle with a group of young women and rip into the reputation of another. She didn’t have the appetite for that bullshit, or the patience for it. 

Solace once had a troupe of ladies-in-waiting that flocked around her wherever she went, the daughters of nobles or merchants, all vying to be her friend. It exhilarated her at first. Losing an argument was difficult for a person with a horde of girls from powerful families to support their every word. Eventually, she grew tired of them. She didn’t need a procession of loud and shrill girls to be powerful. She only needed her surname. 

There were four remaining servants. One of the dresses caught her attention right away. Regal blue organza fabric cut and stitched in lovely shapes meant to highlight the small of her waist and the swell of her breasts. Black lace that curled around the bottom of the floor-length skirt and fitted bodice. She dismissed the rest of the servants and chose that one. 

The last maid helped her into the gown. It was cool against her skin, and it suited her body, unlike the first one. The neckline hung off her shoulders in a soft “V.” The skirt billowed out from her waist in a relaxed bell shape. The maid handed her a pair of black-lace gloves. She slipped them on, splaying her fingers out in front of her to admire them. They went up to her elbows, itching horribly at first, but she couldn’t deny their beauty. 

Her hair was already done, piled on top of her head in elaborate curls before snaking into a bun by the nape of her neck. Her hair had to be tied so low to accommodate her tiara. She knew that because when she was younger, she had asked her hairdressers all about their trade. She even practiced on her friends, Mira and Nisa. Of course, that was a ridiculous idea a princess doing someone else’s hair. Her mother had scolded it out of her, but she never lost her fondness for pretty things. 

“Come, Ascelin, the Calemnars are waiting for us.” 

Her heels and tiara were on, she was eager to go. The sooner she spoke with the Calemnars, the sooner she ate their food and danced to their music and entertained their follies, the sooner she could leave. 

All twenty of her elite guard joined her, keeping her protected on all sides. The press of bodies no longer suffocated her as it had when she was younger. Ascelin parted the guards easily to join her side, a few steps behind her to show respect. They inched back from them. The imperial guard, cowed by the Lion of Filmorn. She waved them back five paces so they could speak without being heard. 

She wanted to tug Ascelin forward and keep him on her arm, to keep his body next to hers because it felt so damn right to touch him. 

She stopped walking for a moment to brush the dust off his uniform. After she gave Jasper a tongue-thrashing for telling Ascelin about Mira without her permission, he had humbly suggested dressing her slave as a guard to avert suspicion. The Calemnars wouldn’t be pleased to have an Odite among them, it was safer to disguise him.

She straightened his shirt and fixed a button that had come undone. “When we enter that great hall, you’ll need to walk like a guard. Shoulders back, chin up. Look at everyone like you could kill if you wanted to.” 

“I could, Mistress,” he grumbled. “Killing has never been an issue for me.” 

She was glad her guards couldn’t hear them. That was bordering a threat. She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Would you kill me?” 

“No!” he replied instantly. “Of course I wouldn’t, Mistress. I would never even think of it.” 

“Because I own you?” 

“Yes, Mistress,” he admitted. “And because… you don’t deserve to be killed.” 

“And what if I hurt you? Would I deserve it then?”

“You made me promise the first night I wouldn’t retaliate no matter what you did. I keep my promises, Mistress. I’ll never hurt you. And… and no one deserves to be killed for hurting me. I’m nothing, just a slave.” 

Her heart twisted. She had a gentle disposition, a loving one—no matter how desperately she tried to hide it. If anyone other man called himself nothing, she would assure him he wasn’t. But assurances weren’t enough for him, this broken husk of a warrior. He was a walking corpse. He needed affection, patience, love, to erase the self-loathing Rosamel Galeth had instilled into him. At least, that was what she observed from Nisa and Mira. She watched Nisa help Mira recover from Elanthine’s torment over the course of years. Solace didn’t know if she had the capacity to do that, to coax an injured kitten to a person to trust her. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking of the first night. At the time, she was drinking to cope with her uncle, Stelson Galeth. She didn’t have the sharpest mind when she met him, nearly tipsy even though her body resisted alcohol. He seemed to move past that quickly, even though she forced him to strip five minutes after being alone with him. Looking back now, he must have expected she was going to fuck him. She was sure that in her half-drunk haze, she wanted to. 

“Do you really believe that? That you’re nothing?” 

He faltered. “It’s… it’s what my previous mistress taught me.”

“I don’t care what Rosamel Galeth told you. You aren’t nothing,” said Solace. “There’s a reason my grandfather outlawed slavery, you’re a man no matter what your title is. That matters for something.” 

“I’m a slave in an empire where slavery isn’t legal,” he mused, a rue smile on his face. “I guess that means I’m special, Mistress.”

Her lips split into a grin. So her boy had a sense of humor after all. “That’s right. And you’re my friend, remember? I don’t have many of those. Don’t call yourself nothing again.” 

He swallowed his protests and nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy. Now remember, the Calemnars are the second most powerful house in the empire, after mine. They hate the Odite almost as much as the Galeth do. If they discover who you are, it will be difficult for even me to protect you.” 

“Yes, Mistress. I know. The Calemnars helped the Galeth invade the Odium.” 

That struck her like a gale on the sea. The Calemnars, at war without permission. He caught her as she stumbled on the dress and blushed as their noses touched. She smiled, and for a minute, she thought about kissing him. 

Her smile fell. “The Calemnars fought an enemy overseas without my mother’s authorization?” 

“I… I wouldn’t be the person to ask that, Mistress,” he said, still blushing from being so close. He was silly to be so flustered by her touch. They had spent four nights in the same bed and had only known each other for five, touch was a given for them.

Fuck.  _ Enough, Solace _ . She was concerned with her pretty slave blushing when he had just told her of the Calemnar’s treason. Her mother had warned her that when she met a man she loved, he could cloud her mind. In love or not, Ascelin was certainly impairing her judgment. 

“Any Keervanian nobles who want to go to war must answer to us first. We gave the Galeth permission, but the Calemnars didn’t even ask. If they think they can ignore the law of the empire, then—Fuck, I need to send my mother a letter. This act of war may lead to yet another war. A civil war.”

“Mistress…” he hazarded. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what was in the other letter you got yesterday? You seemed so upset when you were reading it in the carriage.” 

“That’s not your concern,” she snapped. He hunched back and she instantly regretted her tone. If he was a dog, his tail would be between his legs and his ears would be pressed back. Just a moment ago, she was being so tender with him, but his question plucked a string in her heart and sent her vibrating with anger. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh about it, I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s about my brother. He’s been having seizures. If it’s any worse, I’ll have to end this trip and return home to watch him die. I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to turn back to the palace to say goodbye.” 

All the color evaporated from his face. Like they were strangers again, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “I-I’m sorry, Mistress. That’s awful news, I’m sorry to hear that. I…” 

She patted the small of his back. “You don’t need to look so afraid, Ascelin. I’ve told you before, I don’t blame you for what happened to him. You tried to stop them, and you saved plenty of other young men in the Odium. It’s okay.” 

“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry. I just… I can’t help it. You’re too kind to me, Mistress. Any other woman would hate me.” 

“Well, I don’t. I’m worried for you, actually. If the Calemnars helped the Galeth with the war, they know who you are. I should send you to my room to keep you out of this.” 

Gamel and Jasper emerged from another hallway and joined them, pushing past the human blockade of guards surrounding her. They were dressed in fine clothes as well. Gamel wore the suit of a typical royal steward, and Jasper’s medals hung over his uniform. If she was a commoner or a regular noble lady, she would be worried about overdressing, but Solace Buliere was the princess. She set the standards for clothing.

“Morning, Highness!” Gamel exclaimed. “So, how did you piss off Nisa today, eh? She was fuming.” 

“That’s between my advisor and I, Gamel.” 

“Oh? So you don’t think I’m important enough to know, Princess?” 

“Quiet, before you get on my nerves.” 

“Just curious, Highness.” 

Jasper curled his lips up in a rare smile. “it doesn’t involve ale. I doubt you really care, Gamel.” 

“He doesn’t,” Solace agreed. “When we’re alone, I have something to tell you, Jasper. About Nisa and about the Calemnars. Gamel, take Ascelin back to my bedchambers.” 

The guard raised a brow. “Really? This is the first time you’re letting him go since the Galeth gave him to you and you’re letting  _ Gamel  _ watch over him?” 

“You’re my commander of guard. That great hall is filled with lesser lords loyal to the Calemnars. This is no Daledan’s Bend, I’ve yet to win their favor. I’ll need as many bodies with me as possible in this place with no allegiance to me. They support me in name only.” She almost wished she had that horde of ladies-in-waiting. “I’m not stupid. My last name won’t prevent me from looking weak in there, and Gamel won’t do me any help. He’s a drunk steward, an embarrassment to my staff and name.” 

Gamel scoffed and began to speak. “Well, I—” Jasper elbowed him in the ribs. 

Her guard bowed his head. “Of course, Your Highness. You reason like your mother.” A compliment, in tactical terms, anyway. Her mother was a master statesman. 

Solace clasped Ascelin’s hand for a moment, enjoying his touch and presence for the last time today. It was barely past sunrise, but the Calemnars organized obscenely long parties. She would not be back long into the night. “I trust no one with your safety other than you. I hated leaving you with Nisa in her carriage during that parade, and I hate leaving you with Gamel now. If anyone hurts you, kill them.” 

Jasper clasped Solace’s shoulder. Normally, a guard would never be so bold as to touch a member or the royal family, but he was something like a second father to her. “You don’t need to be so anxious over him. I’ll station guards with Ascelin and Gamel. They’ll be okay.” 

“You stationed guards with Mira.” She crossed her arms over her chest, deciding against saying anything more. She knew better than to use her name to prove a point. “Just… just keep him safe, Gamel. You know I don’t trust commoners. Don’t let them hear who Ascelin is.” 

Gamel’s face softened, his awful humor evaporated. “Not everyone wants to hurt him, Princess. Or you.” 

“I’m a Buliere. My enemies will take any opportunity to hurt me. They want nothing more to destroy what is rightfully mine, and he is my property. Worse, he’s an Odite.” 

“Not anymore,” murmured Ascelin, finally speaking. “To be an Odite is to be loyal to the Berserker. I’m loyal to you, Mistress. Let me go with you. You said you bodies around you, and you don’t trust anyone with me anyway.” 

“The Calemnars fought with the Galeth against the Odium. They know who you are. Lord Calemnar wouldn’t forget capturing an Odite council member. He’ll use your identity to torment you in front of all the lords in Calemnar territory. If the lesser lords discover who you are, the rest of the Keervan would hear as well.” 

“And our princess’ people mustn’t think she is sleeping with a foreign enemy.” Nisa joined them in the hallway they stood in, accompanied by Tristan. The guards parted for them. “Especially not when those people answer to Lord Calemnar. 

Space wanted to slap her. Her best friend’s face was still sour. She didn’t like to be accused of treason, but it sure as hell looked like betrayal to Solace. Either Nisa was spying on Solace and her mother, or working with her mother without her permission. If it was the former, she would have no choice but to punish her, and that meant dismissal at the least, if not execution. If it was the latter, well… Nisa was  _ her  _ advisor, not her mother’s. It was deceit either way. 

If she had warned her about the empress’ plans, she wouldn’t be in this predicament right now, traveling through the empire, far from her family. She felt like the only Buliere in the world. She could have argued with her mother, chipped her will away piece by piece until she had her way. 

Tristan cocked his head. “Is she? Sleeping with the enemy, I mean. I can’t tell anymore.” 

“I’m nothing more than his mistress, he’s nothing more than my gift. I am not fucking him.” Solace was careful not to raise her voice. Frustration mounted within her. 

She wanted nothing more than to shout at all of her subordinates, but she couldn’t make a scene at Castle Calemnar. Infighting was weakness, and weakness in a place like this… it was suicide. 

“I’ve told you all before, I’m not using him for sex. All of you answer to me. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.” She considered attaching a threat to the end of her sentence, but she was a threat enough. “Where’s Doctor Kipling?” 

“He told me to inform you he was waiting for you in the great hall, Your Highness,” answered Nisa. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Why is he speaking to the Calemnars without me? And why did he tell  _ you,  _ Nisa, instead of reporting to me directly?” 

Gamel shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Probably didn’t think you’d mind, if you ask me.” 

“Didn’t think I would mind?” She composed her face, kept it blank of emotion. “He didn’t think at all, then. He is my employee, speaking to the  _ Calemnars _ .” 

The empress had always encouraged Solace to trust her intuition, and her intuition screamed betrayal. It had been doing that a lot lately. She was beginning to remind herself of her mother, more paranoid than shrewd. She couldn’t blame herself. Doctor Kipling had only been employed in the palace for six months. She had known Nisa for her entire life, and she struggled to trust her—not that she was wrong for that, apparently. 

Her mother installed Kipling as Solace’s personal doctor. He was skilled, yes, but so were the rest of the royal doctors. Why him? The empress was a smart woman. If she smelled even a hint of betrayal, she would dismiss him, but she had sent him with her daughter. Maybe her judgment was wrong, or maybe Solace was the wrong one. 

She wanted nothing more than to throttle her mother and demand answers, but she was a two days ride away. She missed her father, her bedroom overlooking the ocean, her home, and it hadn’t even been a week. 

Her commander of guard and second father had told Ascelin about Mira without thinking of if his princess allowed it, but that didn’t sting as badly as the other things occupying her mind. Her best friend and closest confidant had betrayed her. Her doctor was speaking to her hostile noblemen without her permission or presence. She was about to leave her slave, her property, her  _ friend  _ with her incompetent steward and a handful of guards—in a place that wanted nothing more than to destroy the pretty things she owned. She was about to walk into a room of her family’s ancestral enemies with no one to guide her. 

Solace bid Ascelin goodbye and sent him away with Gamel. It made her stomach roil with unease. She watched him disappear down the corridors, wishing the others weren’t there so she could call him back and hug him. Since when did she form an attachment so strong? 

She recounted it in her head as she walked with her retinue to the great hall. She hadn’t given a damn about him on the day she received him. She sent him to her room without saying a proper goodbye. Then she tried to drink herself dizzy to avoid seeing him, not that alcohol seemed to work on her anymore. She wandered off to the gardens the following morning, leaving him to sleep alone on a mattress on the floor. If he had escaped at that moment, she wouldn’t have given a damn. The fierce protectiveness had only manifested after he rescued that boy from the river. She didn’t want him out of her sight after that. 

Tristan leaned toward her as they walked. She considered herself tall for a woman, but he towered over her. “What’s on your mind, Sol?”

No one had called her Sol in a long time. Tristan was the only one to keep using the nickname. When she was younger, she passed her days with Nisa, Mira, Tristan, and her brother under Jasper’s watchful eyes. Sol had been the only name she knew. Then Mira was killed, Tristan couldn’t visit anymore, and Emmet was taken by the Odite. Nisa was the only friend she had left in a world where being her friend meant power. Pathetically ironic. All the nobles who had wanted to get close to her were too pathetic for her tastes, but Tristan was different. He was barely more than a rich commoner, tactless and loud with humor shimmered around him like diamond powder. 

She had taken to him immediately the first time she saw him, at the wedding between her favorite and only aunt, Edelya, and Stelson Galeth. It was the summer after her stay with the Galeth, after they’d pressured her into drinking herself immune to liquor. She was fourteen at most.

Edelya Buliere was the empress’ sister, marrying the Galeth to secure an alliance. The ceremony had been bland, but during the reception, a lanky boy with a crooked smile had bumped into her. He fumbled through an apology and she instantly liked him. 

“Many things are on my mind,” she answered. 

“Anything in particular? You’re upset,” he pressed. Despite being seperated for over a year, he knew her almost as well as Nisa did. 

“Castle Calemnar is not exactly a place to be at ease. I’m about to attend a breakfast feast with all the underlords in the region. Worse, I have to host a private audience with the Calemnars afterward.”

“It’s not just that. It’s Ascelin, isn’t it?” He paused before continuing. “Gods, tell me you haven’t fallen in love.” 

“No, I haven’t fallen in love with my  _ slave _ . He was trained by the Galeth, he’s gone through enough.”  _ And my love is a burden _ . 

“That doesn’t stop you from keeping him on a leash like a dog,” he muttered. “And you didn’t have objections when Nisa wanted to marry Mira.” 

“Don’t,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “She was our friend. Don’t use her to prove a point. That’s completely different.” 

He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear. My point is, you seem worried about him, that’s all.” 

“Of course I’m worried about him. I don’t want to leave him with the Calemnars around. As much as I appreciate your concern, I don’t need it.” 

She wanted to tell him about the treason the Calemnars committed, but she didn’t trust him as relieved as she was to have him back. Just yesterday she was doubting his loyalty, wondering if he played a hand with the spy in her window. She was doubting everyone’s loyalty recently. 

She just wanted to go home. As much as she spurned her mother sometimes, she was safe with her. No one would dare cross the Empress of Keervan after she single-handedly subdued the empire, crushing any rebellion against her with war or reform. A generation later, that rebellion was back. Conflict was about to return to the empire after years of peace. Something tingled on Solace’s skin, begging her to turn around and return to the royal palace in Orsten, where she would be far removed from treasonous lords, spies in the window, and suspicious doctors. 

_ I am a Buliere. A fucking Buliere _ , she reminded herself as she began to sweat under her gown. A Buliere about to face a hall of people impartial to her at best, ruled by a family who went to war against the Odium without permission. Her name gave her power. Her face gave her power. Her little parade of guards gave her power. Power to walk into that room as a princess and leave as a leader. She was no Verity Buliere, a mastermind of war and diplomacy, but she would have to imitate her mother to survive this. 

“All of you are here to support me.” She turned to face Jasper, Nisa, Gamel, and Tristan as they approached the great hall doors. “Keep close to me. Outside of greetings, don’t speak to anyone. If you do, I’ll do to you what I plan on doing to Doctor Kipling as soon as we leave this damned place.” 

The six Calemnar guards posted at the doors stared at her openly through the gaps between her own guards. They could hear her voice, but not her words. She enjoyed that reverence, it was something she hadn’t experienced lately. Ever since she returned from her journey on the other side of the sea with her comatose brother, she had refused to fulfill any of her duties as princess and kept to herself in her wing of the palace, only interacting with her closest companions, who treated her like a girl rather than a god. 

They silently unlocked the doors. They were at least five times her height, displaying the grandeur of the room within, without even showing it. If she was anyone else, she would be impressed, but compared to the palace, this was small grandeur. The doors opened to reveal an organized horde of lords. 

Her guards filed behind her in two rows of ten, a little parade of deadly force. Nisa stepped to the front of her retinue and cleared her throat. 

“Introducing Her Imperial Highness, Princess Solace Buliere, second of her name, heir to the throne, crown, and scepter of Keervan, daughter of Her Imperial Grace, Verity Buliere, Empress of Keervan, bearer of the throne, crown, and scepter, and His Imperial Highness, Evzen Callecher, Imperial Consort to Her Grace, bearer of the collar.”

Every lord, lady, and servant stood for her. When she was younger, she would stare at her mother in awe. That was before she cultivated a growing resentment for her. 

She had become her now. She was a spectacle, not because she made herself one, but because she was a god among men by virtue of her blood and name. She had never felt this before, the complete attention and admiration of so many powerful people, enraptured by  _ her.  _ She had always been overshadowed by her mother, or side-by-side with her brother, who the people loved more. It was only her now, and she was prepared. As much as she doubted herself, she was prepared. 

She walked down the aisle between the tables, dress cascading around her, light hitting her face perfectly. She was suddenly glad she pried Ascelin off of her before dawn to answer the maids at the door, ready to groom her hair and accentuate her face with paints and powders. They had done her a stunning favor, a worthy trade for waking her slave, who had spent the rest of the night sleeping on her lap after his nightmare. Solace had become the perfect image of beauty, a true  _ Orianne _ , just like her slave—only without the scars. 

Each person she passed knelt until the liege lord’s family were the only people standing. Lord and Lady Calemnar waited for her on the dais at the head of the hall. Their heir, Warroste, accompanied them. 

Doctor Kipling was with them as well. She was ready to show him the full force of a wronged Buliere for speaking to her enemies without her permission, for entering the hall before her. She gave him a glare that could level a mountain and he shifted nervously. Good. 

Her twenty guards assembled themselves in a neat line at the wall closest to her. If she wasn’t so angry, she would feel exposed. 

“Your Imperial Highness,” Lord Calemnar bid. 

“Lord Aldwin Calemnar,” Solace returned. 

Nisa butted in to introduce her retinue to the lord. “This is Jasper Alby, the commander of the Her Highness’ personal guard, Tristan Daledan, guard to Her Highness and seventh son of Lady Albertine Daledan of Daledan’s Bend, Jorin Kipling, personal doctor of Her Highness, and I am Lady Nisa Pike, advisor to Her Royal Highness.” 

Solace bit back the urge to smirk. Nisa was rattling like a poorly-trained pageboy. It was all part of decorum, she supposed. She had always been so formal, so desperate to conform to the standards of royalty. Even as young girls, Nisa never used her name because it wasn’t her place. 

“I’m so honored to receive you in my home,” boomed Lord Calemnar. It wasn’t necessary. Everyone in the hall was still on their knees, quiet and unassuming as mice in her presence.

“And I am honored to be here.” She smiled, a glittering grin that could charm a bear into a puppy. Turning her back to the Calemnars to face the lower lords, she said, “Rise in the name of the empress.” 

They stood again, backs rigid, eyes stuck on her like fabric caught on a hook. 

“Thank you. You may sit.” 

She felt Lord Calemnar’s glare on her back. From the way she was conducting  _ his  _ lower lords, he was likely fantasizing ways to kill her. 

Less than half a century ago, these nobles weren’t lower lords, they were the high lords of Calemnas, and the Calemnars were their rulers. Then her grandfather conquered them in his feverous expansion of the empire and was assassinated for it. Her mother had stabled the empire since then, but no one here liked her. 

Calemnas had been a small country once. Now, it was a province of the empire. Some of these nobles had traveled days to have an audience with her. It was different from the Daledans, who only ruled a little town due to the grace of her family. They loved her. 

This was not love. This was politics, this was power, and she was going to show them their place before wiping their kind out. She surveyed the room. These lords were fat and happy while their people starved. Calemnas was the least stable province in Keervan, and these lords were nothing but more weight on unsteady legs. They weren’t put in their seats of power because they were competent—like the Warilers—or brutal—like the Galeth—or because the gods wanted them there—like her family. They had no place to be more than commoners. Lords were bad enough, but lower lords? Absolutely unnecessary. 

“The princess Solace Buliere is pleased to be among the lords of Calemnas. On behalf of Her Highness, I thank each of you for being here.” 

She put her hand up to stop Nisa. She had a speech of her own prepared. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She had pieces of what she wanted to say fragmented in her mind, but it was enough. She had never struggled with public address. 

“Calemnas is a beautiful province,” she began. “I am blessed to be here among you.” 

She let her instincts do the rest, recounting stories from Calemnas from her visits from the past. Of course, most of them were for Calemnar weddings, a threatening event for her family as the family gained more power, but she twisted the tales on her tongue to appeal to the lords, listening with rapt attention. She had always noticed this about her family. Whenever one of them spoke, everyone listened. Even with Elanthine, one of the cruelest and most despised women to have ever lived. She was good enough of a speaker to sway a sickening number of high lords to betray Verity Buliere. 

_ She is a good speaker, but I’m better _ , Solace promised herself.  _ She’s in exile on the other side of the sea, and I’m the heir to the empire. Fuck her.  _

She nodded to Nisa. Her advisor accepted a full chalice of wine and handed it to Solace. She lifted it up in the air. “To Calemnas,” she finished. 

“To Calemnas!” echoed the hall. 

She drank. One of her guards had tasted it and it was safe. 

A voice cut through the crowd. “To Solace Buliere!” 

She found the face of the woman who just cried out a toast to her. Lady Westra, a lower lady who supported her family. She was among the few lords loyal to the Bulieres instead of the Calemnars. 

“To Solace Buliere!” screamed the hall. 

She exchanged a glance with Nisa. The lower lords of Calemnas were more enthusiastic than either of them expected. It was more than a simple cheer to imitate support. Nisa thought so too.  _ Wow _ , she mouthed. 

_ Wow, indeed _ . She sat at the table on the elevated dais with the Calemnars. It was a long table for only eight of them. 

“Where are the rest of your children, Lord Calemnar?” If she remembered correctly, there were four others, because they married their children to create alliances. The more, the better. 

“Two of them are married and unable to attend because they live too far away, Your Highness. My apologies,” answered Lord Calemnar. 

“And the other two?” 

“I didn’t think they would be worthy of your audience, Your Highness,” said Lord Calemnar. 

She controlled her eyebrows and lips to avoid giving any expression away. “And what makes Warroste worthy?”

Lady Calemnar hissed, insulted despite Solace’s even tone. “Well, I—” 

“Please, bring me your other children. I’m certain all of them are worthy, and I’d like to meet them.” She put on a disarming smile that no one could resist and Lady Calemnar visibly calmed. 

“Why, Your Highness, that was exactly what I was about to suggest.” Lord Calemnar interrupted before his wife displeased the princess, not knowing that she had already been subdued. 

Nisa, Tristan, and Gamel gawked at her like she was performer on the streets playing silly tricks on gullible children. Weren’t they familiar with her skill in diplomacy, the skill every Buliere shared? They had accompanied her through her childhood, surely they weren’t shocked by her training in statesmanship. 

Legends told that those with the blood of Orstenthe were the greatest orators in the world, they could convince anyone of anything. Orstenthe was the god of reason and creation, after all. She was the blood of the god Orstenthe, but she didn’t believe the rumors. All their blood provided was an advantage and a birthright. 

The first Calemnar child stumbled in, a limp in both legs. She didn’t know that was possible. The girl lurched forward like a crooked wheel, no older than fourteen. She was dressed in finery fitting of a daughter of a high lord, but she didn’t look like one. She looked like a mistreated puppy. Acted like one, too. 

“What the hell?” Tristan murmured, out of earshot of the Calemnars. 

So that’s why they didn’t show their daughter. A cripple wasn’t presentable to the princess. Solace clenched her fists. The young Calemnar daughter wasn’t a cripple the last time she visited. What the hell did they do to her? 

Tristan swore again as her twin sister was brought out. Same face, same disfigurement. Nisa cupped her hand to her mouth. Jasper’s fingers were clasped around his sword. 

“Your Highness, my daughters, Masilena and Mallorca,” said Lord Calemnar. He must have been ashamed of them, but he didn’t show it.

“Your Highness,” they said in erratic unison, dropping to their knees. 

“Masilena and Mallorca Calemnar, come. Join us.” She raised her glass to them. They obeyed, shuffling to sit at the table. It could seat twenty on each side. 

Food was wheeled out from side doors in carts, a feast even by her standards and it was barely past sunrise. She doubted she could eat considering the churning in her stomach. The thrill of speaking had faded. 

Warroste Calemnar carved into a duck with a knife far too sharp for her liking. “Your Highness, I want to tell you how terribly upset I was to hear about what happened to your brother.” 

_ Upset enough to go to war on our behalf without our permission _ . His smirk betrayed him, the smugness of a child inexperienced with acting, the smugness of a Calemnar when a Buliere was injured. 

She speared a small slice of potato and chewed to keep herself from antagonizing him. Warroste was seventeen at the most, if her memory served her correctly. Had he gone across the sea to destroy the Odium, or had his parents kept him in Calemnar Castle while they committed treason? 

“It means so much to hear that. Tell me, Warroste, how old are you?” 

“Sixteen,” he answered proudly. “Seventeen soon, Your Highness.” 

“I remember attending the weddings of your brothers. They’re older than you, aren’t you? Why were you chosen as your father’s heir?” 

Solace posed the question as innocent curiosity, but she wanted to know what awful trails the Calemnars forced their children through. She should have asked the last time she visited, seven years ago at a Calemnar wedding, but she was fourteen—blissfully protected by her mother and surrounded by friends. She didn’t care seven years ago, but after seeing the crippled Calemnar daughters… She needed to know, even if she doubted they would tell her the truth. 

Lady Calemnar interjected, as if she didn’t trust her son to speak to her. “He was the most fit, Your Highness. Just like your mother was the most fit after your grandfather died.” 

_ After my grandfather, grandmother, and uncle were assassinated by your people for conquering them,  _ she wanted to correct. 

“The only other option was Elanthine Buliere. She was only eleven, hardly fit to rule.” She bit back the bitter resentment bubbling in her throat. The family sitting with her sided with Elanthine when she rose in rebellion against the empress four years ago. 

“Yes, yes, hardly,” Lord Calemnar dismissed. “With the respect you are due, Your Highness, let’s not talk about her. Let’s celebrate your time with us. The lower lords of this province are eager to have an audience with you.” 

She ground her teeth. “I could not have said it better, Lord Calemnar.” 

The lords and ladies of Calemnas began approaching the dais to speak with her. She pushed her nearly-untouched plate of food away before her friends had even begun to eat, paying full attention to the first lord to introduce himself. He was quite young, stammering through a greeting. The rest weren’t so unsure. Some of them hated her as much as the Calemnars did. Others made their support of her as clear as they could under the watchful eye of their liege lord, but they were few and far between. 

Her head began to throb after an hour. Her legs went numb after two. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to her guest room, where Ascelin was waiting for her. She looked at her cold plate while the people around her heaped more food on theirs. Even here, in the hall of her enemies, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She wondered if Gamel was asking the servants to feed him. She would scalp him if he didn’t. 

Tristan cursed, jumping up from his seat. He had elbowed Mallorca’s wine glass over, and it was dripping onto his lap. 

“Father,” she rasped. “I’m sorry, I—” 

“Get the whipping boy,” ordered Lord Calemnar. 

Mallorca’s face dissolved into a sickening mix of horror and relief. A pair of maids hurried out of the hall and dragged a boy in, no older than ten. Solace’s heart dropped. 

“What are you doing, Lord Calemnar?” 

One of Calemnar’s guards stepped forward with a switch. Everyone in the hall had fallen quiet. The first stroke landed on the boy’s bare back and she winced. The child cried out, a choked whine and not the unrestrained scream she would expect from a little boy. He was broken. By the second, she was on her feet. 

“What are you doing?” she repeated in a voice that frightened even her. The guard stopped. 

“Punishing my daughter for her transgression.” 

“By caning a boy? Mallorca wasn’t the one to spill the wine, it was one of mine, and it was an accident.”

Calemnar nodded to the guard. “Give him ten more, for her guard’s mistake.”

“No,” she hissed, pointing at the guard. “You, get out of my sight.” 

Torn between her lord and her princess, the guard stepped back. She was a tall, strong woman with graying hair and the resolve of a veteran, but she trembled in her wrath. 

“Tristan is my guard and he answers to me. You are a liege lord with no authority over my staff. You have no right to discipline my people on my behalf, do you understand?” 

Lord Calemnar cleared his throat. “With the respect you are due, Your Highness—” 

“Answer me when I ask you a question. You have no right to use a whipping boy to discipline my guard for a simple mistake, am I understood?” 

“Yes, Your Highness,” he managed through a clenched jaw, reminded in his place in front of all of his people. 

“And you have no right to keep a whipping boy.” 

“Your Highness, keeping a whipping boy is a long-held practice of Calemnas,” the lord explained. 

“It is  _ not  _ a practice of Keervan. You have been part of the empire for nearly fifty years. This is unacceptable. My family was merciful to you when we outlawed slavery. We allowed you to sign indentured servants. This is not indentured servitude.” 

“Your Highness—” 

“Do not speak when I am speaking,” she snapped. She wanted to threaten to cut his tongue out, but open aggression like that could cause an uproar, and her battalion of soldiers couldn’t protect her here. They were waiting outside the castle. “How many whipping boys do you have?”

“Just one. He is punished for my children.” 

“How many Keervanian crowns to buy his contract?” 

Calemnar’s eye twitched and he snarled. “He isn’t for sale, Your Highness.” 

“I asked you a question. How many crowns?” 

Lady Calemnar cut her husband off before he could answer. “Twenty thousand.” 

The lords whispered between themselves. Twenty thousand was a high number, enough to buy a sizable house on the outskirts of the capitol. It was meant to expose her bluff and make her look weak in front of everyone here. Unfortunately for Lady Calemnar, she wasn’t bluffing. She had the funds and the power not to. Pathetic woman. She must have thought she had done something smart. 

“Done. Bring him and his papers to my steward.” 

Calemnar could barely hide his surprise. Lady Calemnar held Warroste by the arm to keep him from lunging up like a rabid dog after seeing his father disgraced. 

“I will forgive you twice today. Once for overstepping your bounds as liege lord and once for breaking the empire’s rules concerning slavery. A less merciful ruler would have you executed for either.” 

He slammed his glass down. Wine sloshed over the edges and stained the tablecloth. Funny how that was a transgression for his daughter but not for him. “Are you threatening me as a guest in my home?” 

“I’m not threatening you, Lord Calemnar. I’m giving you a warning. You should be thankful. Calemnas is part of Keervan and I am the heir to the empire. I’m not a guest anywhere so long as I’m within the bounds of  _ my  _ kingdom.” 

One of them would have to give, and it wouldn’t be here. Calemnar dipped his head and sat back down. “Yes, Your Highness. My deepest apologies. If it would please you, I offer the boy to you as a gift instead, a token of my humility.” 

Nisa nudged Solace gently and whispered to her, “I know you’re angry with him right now, and you’re angry with me, but listen to me, Your Highness, I beg of you, accept it before you escalate this further.” 

“I don’t need charity,” she muttered. “Especially not from a Calemnar.” 

“ _ Listen to me _ ,” she repeated. “Accept it, and I’ll tell you why I know your secrets. Please, do the smart thing.” 

Solace looked from Lord Calemnar to Nisa and bit the inside of her cheek, well aware of everyone’s eyes on her. 

“You’re a gracious host, Lord Calemnar,” she said at last. Nisa sighed in relief at her side. 

“You are a merciful ruler, Your Imperial Highness.”

And they returned to feasting like nothing had happened after the stained tablecloth was replaced. Having met all the lords, Calemnar called in the entertainment. What looked to be an entire orchestra assembled throughout the room. She wrinkled her nose. What a silly travesty of luxury. How could the players hear each other and stay in time with the beat if they were seperated so? 

The whipping boy was shepherded away. She ordered him to be brought to Gamel. Maybe Ascelin would comfort him. She saw him with that boy who fell in the river. He was good with children. 

The scalding blast of anger that coursed through his fangs faded, replaced by a different sort of warmth. She had taken to Ascelin like a girl with a kitten. And how could she blame herself? 

If she endured breakfast and the private audience, demanded the answers Nisa promised, and ripped Kipling open for his insubordination, she could return to her quarters, return to Ascelin. 

She had a long day ahead of her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solace takes of the ugly dress at the start of the chapter and replaces it with [this one](https://img.veaul.com/product/90b1d5414ce600c6a9836237c9087dc1/vintage-retro-navy-blue-prom-dresses-2018-ball-gown-off-the-shoulder-short-sleeve-appliques-lace-pearl-beading-floor-length-long-ruffle-backless-formal-dresses-560x560.jpg) because she has taste.
> 
> TLDR: Nisa is either spying on Solace or working with Solace's mother without her permission. Dr Kipling is being VERY suspicious, talking to the Calemnars without her permission. Solace's inner circle doesn't respect her authority, lmao. Calemnars are bad and disfigure their children for reasons that will eventually be revealed, Solace gets a second gift slave (an abused ten-year-old boy because, once again, Calemnars are bad) by showing the Calemnars their place. Calemnas was once their own kingdom before Solace's grandfather conquered them, that's why everyone in that region is so bitter. So Calemnas is a province now.


	10. Chapter 10

Warroste Calemnar started at her while his father dismissed the hall of lords, finally calling the feast to a close. Solace’s guards surrounded her to escort her out through the towering doors, and she felt his gaze on the back of her head. She stared ahead, determined to seem unbothered. She was accustomed to being the center of attention, but the young lord was carving holes in her with his eyes. Her circle of guards closed in on her tighter, sensing the same hostility she did. 

“This room right here,” said Solace. “Nisa, Jasper, with me.” 

She retreated into an empty room and dismissed everyone. It was a sitting room of some sort. Heavy curtains hung from the ceiling, only allowing thin beams of light in through twenty-foot tall windows. A layer of dust blanketed the scattered furniture, arranged in no discernable pattern. Paintings and statuettes leaned against the walls and tables, covered in grime. 

Tristan and Kipling attempted to follow them in. She chuckled as her guards shoved them back. A handful of guards lingered behind. Nisa eyed them, shifting from foot to foot. Solace ordered them out as well. 

She sank into an old armchair, ignoring the dust that rose out of it when she put her weight on it. She couldn’t be bothered to keep her dress clean, exhausted of pleasantries after the ordeal of dining with all the lords of Calemnars. She was more exhausted than she had been in years. Solace beckoned Nisa over, pointing to a chair. Her advisor dragged it in front of her and sat. 

“Jasper, you’re dismissed. Leave two guards in front of the door, on the outside of the room. Keep what we are about to discuss secure. I don’t want anyone to hear us.” 

The commander nodded and leaned down, voice hushed. “Your Highness, whatever you’re going to say to her, remember that she’s your best friend. She wants the best for you. I know you can forget that when you’re angry.” 

“You are dangerously close to being patronizing,” she warned. “I’ll deal with Nisa first. Keep Dr. Kipling by the door. He will be next.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The door closed softly behind Jasper. 

Solace let out a long breath, steadying the betrayal, the confusion, the  _ hurt  _ that had been clawing at her during the Calemnar feast. She had been uneasy since she discovered that Nisa was keeping secrets from her. She was her best friend and advisor. If Solace couldn’t trust her, there was no one she could put her faith in. 

She waited silently until Nisa met her eyes. “Do you remember what you promised when you begged me to accept a  _ child _ as a gift from Lord Calemnar?” 

Nisa gripped the armrests of her chair and began bouncing her knee. “I promised to tell you why I know your secrets.” 

“Then tell me.” Solace leaned back and drummed her fingers on her thigh, crossing her legs. 

Her advisor drew in a deep breath. “I’m not sure where to begin, really… Well, you know that your mother has never liked me.” 

“She doesn’t like most people,” Solace agreed. “So why would she tell you her plans to destroy the nobles? Not only that. You knew about the parade, you know about this whole damn journey, didn’t you? You knew what she was organizing and why, and I didn’t.” 

Nisa’s eyes widened as she realized what Solace was about to accuse her of. “I’m not—”

“You’re not spying on my family?” she finished. “That means that she willingly told you she was going to send me across the damn  _ empire  _ to fucking dismantle the lordship.” She grappled for control with her anger, the famous Buliere temper. “And  _ you _ , you elected not to tell me.” 

“I was under orders by Her Grace to keep it from you!” Nisa cried. “She knew you would react poorly.” 

Solace clenched her jaw. “Poorly? I obeyed. I obeyed her commands, got on a carriage, and left my home. I left Emmet behind. That’s what she asked of me, and I did it. I wouldn’t call that ‘reacting poorly.’”

“Let me rephrase. She knew you wouldn’t be happy about it.” 

She stopped tapping her fingers on her leg and gathered her hand into a shaking fist. “Of course I wouldn’t be happy about it. No one in my position would have been. What else has she told you that I don’t know about?” She dug her nails into her palm, regarding her  _ best friend _ with cold calculation she didn’t know she was capable of. 

Nisa swallowed. “Your Highness, I’m not allowed to tell you what I know.” 

“By orders from my mother. Well, my mother is a three days ride from you, and you work for  _ me _ . So enough with the formalities, because there are a lot of things I can do to you in three days to convince you to confess.” 

“You’re joking.” Nisa leaned forward in her chair, maintaining eye contact. She stared back, unwavering and unmovable. She was looking for Solace’s bluff, but there wasn’t one to find. 

“I’m not remotely close to joking. You’re more of an asset to my mother than you are to me, which means the only use I have for you is information.” 

“I am your friend! You have threatened to hurt me, but your mother will  _ kill  _ you if I tell you her plans. You’re asking me to commit treason.” 

“I am ordering you to commit treason,” Solace corrected. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need the truth. Tell me, and my mother won’t touch you, I swear it.”

Nisa twisted the ends of her hair, a nervous habit Solace noticed when they were ten. “You can’t promise that, Your Highness. Not when it comes to your mother. She’s the Buliere empress.” 

“And I am the Buliere heir.” 

“Surely you aren’t deluded enough to believe that you have power over your mother?” Nisa blinked furiously, fighting tears of frustration. “You are demanding that I condemn myself for you, Your Highness. And in any other circumstance, I would. But I’m keeping this secret for her sake and yours.” 

Solace ground her teeth. She would most likely never amount to her mother, and she hoped she would never have to. That meant war, betrayal, uprisings against her. Being compared to her mother didn’t sit well with her. “For  _ your _ sake, what did you tell you? I am not my mother, no, but I am not weak. As much as I don’t want to hurt you, I will. You gave me your word, you promised to tell me if I accepted the boy as a gift.” 

“I made you that promise to keep you from antagonizing Lord Calemnar any more than you already had!” 

Solace sneered. “Would we be the women we are today if Mira didn’t keep her word?” 

Nisa bristled, at a loss for words. Solace ignored that guilt that snapped back at her immediately. She should know better than to invoke Mira’s name. That was a weapon that forced her best friend’s hand no matter what. 

She could deal with the shame later. She needed answers now. 

Her best friend carded her fingers through her black hair, hands tremoring. “I… You’re right. I can’t keep this from you forever. But you’re an immoderate bitch for bringing her up and using her against me, Your Highness. She’s been dead for four years because she kept her promises.” 

Solace blinked. Nisa had never called her something like that before. She rarely even used her name, preferring to address her by her title. She tried a different tone. “You know I don’t want to see you hurt. Don’t keep secrets from me, and don’t break your promises. Be  _ my  _ greatest ally and  _ my  _ confidante—not my mother’s. That is all I ask of you.” 

“I will tell you what you need to know, on one condition. Bring the doctor in to explain what your mother has planned. He knows far more than I do. It would be better if he was the one to tell you.” 

“Doctor Kipling? Of course. Of fucking  _ course  _ he plays a role in this. I thought it was suspicious when my mother hired him so suddenly.” She cleared her throat and called out, “Jasper!” 

The commander peeked into the room. “Yes, Your Highness?” 

“Escort Kipling in,” she said. Jasper and another guard, Isuel, brought the doctor in, wrenching him forward by his arms. “Gently. He isn’t a war criminal. Not that I know of.” 

She pointed to a dusty chair in the corner. Damn Calemnars, unable to keep their castle clean. Isuel retried the chair while Jasper stayed at the doctor’s side, hand firmly gripping his shoulder, as if it wasn’t common knowledge that any man who tried to run from Jasper Alby was a dead man. The two of them were friends, as far as Solace could see. Kipling had been employed by her mother for less than a year, but they seemed to have known each other for much longer—something that hadn’t bothered her until now. 

If Kipling  _ was  _ something as outrageous as a war criminal, would Jasper kill him? 

He would. Just as she would kill Nisa. As warm and fatherly as the old commander was to Solace and her brother, he was the closest thing to a Buliere a man without the blood of the gods could be. Unquestionable loyalty to her family had made him a part of it. It didn’t matter if Jasper and Kipling knew each other since birth, he was loyal to Solace. 

“Jasper, Isuel, you are both dismissed.” She shifted her attention to the other pair of guards in the room, who had tailed Jasper, as if the guard needed guards of his own. “You two as well, Branson and Adlusa. Doctor, sit.” 

“Your Highness, what’s the matter?” Kipling obeyed, seating himself across from her, only inches away from Nisa. They exchanged a glance, sharing thoughts she wished she could pry into. 

_ Soon enough _ , she promised herself, inviting the bubbling anger that raced up her body. Was it the rage? Had the curse of her family finally come to claim her? No, she couldn’t let it. She would hurt someone if it did. 

Her father had always tried to teach the infamous Buliere passion out of her, but it was no use. Her two drops of godblood could never be diluted. It was only a matter of time. 

“You owe me an explanation,” Solace hissed. 

Kipling cocked his head. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Are you asking for an explanation as to why I was speaking with the Calemnars without your permission this morning?” 

“There’s no use, Kipling. She knows,” Nisa mumbled. “She knows that the empress has plans, but she doesn’t know what they are. I thought that you would be the best person to explain, Doctor.” 

His face twitched into a grimace she had never seen before on the kind and light-hearted old doctor. It was horror and frustration, vanishing quicker than she could blink. But she saw it. He couldn’t hide it from her. 

“And how, exactly, did Her Highness come to find that out, Nisa?” he asked, voice light and airy like meadowlarks. Solace narrowed her eyes. 

“A slip of the tongue. I’m sorry,” Nisa murmured. 

There it was again, that frustration on his face. It felt almost… dangerous. Like he was liable to snap at any moment. 

“Ah, a simple mistake. I suppose we can’t keep secrets from you, can we, Your Highness?” He smiled, a genuine grin glittering with wit. She felt taunted, but that smile was too damn innocent to be malice. So this was a game to him, a game he thought was harmless. “Now that you know there is something to be discovered, you’ll stop at nothing to hear the truth, like—”

“Don’t do it.” She knew perfectly well what he was going to say next. “Don’t compare me to my mother. I’ve had more than enough of that today.” 

Kipling guffawed, sitting up in his seat. His eyes crinkled with laughter. “You, you’re a bright one, Your Highness. Dare I say… you’re like your mo—Oh, I’m sorry. I almost did exactly what you ordered me not to.” 

Despite herself, Solace let out an amused snort. That was definitely intentional, the stupid humor she knew from her personal doctor and friend. And he  _ was  _ her friend. Perhaps not as close as Nisa or Jasper, but up until today, she had trusted him. She could almost forget that this man betrayed her. He could charm even her mother, she had seen it more than once. 

“Well, I’m glad you aren’t going to protest like Nisa did. Tell me the truth, it will be easier for all three of us if you do.” 

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know, then. May your merciful mother forgive me.” He took a deep breath, demeanor changing so instantly Solace was almost startled. “When you told us you were worried about Elanthine sending spies, I started fearing the worst. Your mother has been troubled lately, ever since she murdered her supervisor. She worries that Elanthine is planning a second revolution. There are reports that she has started to gather forces in the west, Jaarva specifically. The Jaarvan tribes are afraid that the Odium will expand south, into their territory.” 

“What? Is she offering them safety if they help her overthrow my family?” guessed Solace. 

“That’s exactly what we are afraid of,” Kipling confirmed, flashing her another smile. 

“I asked Mother if the rumors that she was amassing power in Jaarva were true a few weeks ago. She told me they weren’t, but I knew better. Has everyone been lying to me?” she demanded. 

Nisa and Kipling looked at each other again.  _ So yes, everyone has been lying _ . She wanted to scream. 

“I don’t know the answer to that question, Your Highness. But maybe you’ll understand why we’ve been keeping secrets from you if you let me tell you this story.” Kipling played with the handkerchief in his lap, worrying the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve known your mother for years and years. I met her during the war. I’ve been a doctor for thirty years and a spy for twenty-six.” 

“A spy?” 

So that was why he hid his frustration with Nisa so well, why he was so amused when Solace guessed what he was about to say, why he could change his expression so smoothly and quickly. He was an actor, a  _ spy.  _ Evidently, he was proud of it. He enjoyed it. He wasn’t hesitating to tell her what he was. He  _ enjoyed  _ the surprise on Solace’s face to hear that the kind old doctor his mother employed six months ago was much, much more than a personal physician. It really was a game to him, and it  _ thrilled  _ him. 

Solace steeled herself, wondering how many times he had manipulated her in the past six months. 

“I haven’t known you for very long, Your Highness, but I couldn’t have told you even if I had raised you like Jasper or Gamel. Believe me, I wanted to. I consider us friends. Do you?” 

“Get to the point, Doctor,” she ordered. 

“I was part of the resistance of lords against your grandfather over twenty-five years ago. I was one of their most loyal operatives for years.” His face darkened again, and it wasn’t an act anymore. It was true  _ fury _ —a deep and buried fury, but fury still. “Then they murdered my husband, Raless. They discovered that he was one of your grandfather’s spies, planted in our ranks.” 

Kipling had mentioned once in passing that he was interested in men, but he rarely brought up his romantic life. She didn’t know that he was married once. She knew stunningly little, actually. And whatever she did know was more likely than not a lie. “You avenged him by becoming a spy?”

“Not only a spy, a double agent.” A hint of pride edged on his voice, cutting through the pain for a moment before it disappeared like the rain on the sand stretches of Jaarva. “The resistance knew I was married to Raless. After he was discovered, they forced me through… tests, to prove my loyalty.” 

He let out a shaky breath, clenching and clenching his fists. 

Solace made a point to soften her voice despite her anger. “Tests?”

He lifted his head and trapped her attention in his vivid blue eyes, telling her a history of pain that she didn’t want to hear. “Your Highness, those details aren’t important to this story. I passed that, that’s all you need to know. I’d hate to trouble you with my unpleasant experiences.” 

“Fair enough. Go on.” 

“I was sent to finish the mission my husband started after I convinced the resistance that my loyalty belonged to them. It was difficult—more difficult than anything I have ever done—to swear myself again to them again and again after they finished their tests. I swore, what, eight lifetimes to them? Maybe nine? They thought they had me broken,” he chuckled, a weak wheeze of a laugh. “The resistance ordered me to spy on your other’s generals after I was hired to replace Raless, since we were both doctors. I took his place in Her Grace’s ranks.” 

A realization dawned on Solace. “That’s why you seem so close to Jasper. He was Mother’s second-in-command during the civil war. That’s how you know him.” 

“Yes, but he doesn’t know me by the same name. Jorin Kipling is an alias, and so was my name during the war. Your commander has no idea who I am. Anyways, I demanded an audience with your mother and she was gracious enough to provide me one, even during wartime. I told her who I was and why I wanted revenge.” 

“What did she do?” 

“She gave me a reason to live again. She enlisted me as a double agent.” 

“Then my empire owes you great thanks,” said Solace. 

Kipling’s face became the same storm she saw in Jasper when he spoke of the war, in Gamel as well. She had seen that expression on the royal executioner, Harleva, before she was executed herself for her part in Elanthine’s first revolution four years ago. She saw that look in her mother’s best friend, Lady Qarinah of the golden desert of Keervan. She saw it in her father, when he told her stories of the war. And in all her esteemed and celebrated guards, soldiers reduced to nursemaids for the prince and princess. 

Every single survivor of her mother’s wars was bitter. Even her mother was no exception. She was a revenge-motivated creature, just as Kipling was. 

“Well all the respect you are due, Your Highness, I didn’t do it for the empire.” 

She offered him a small, knowing smile. “I know you didn’t. Thank you anyway.” 

“Then you’re welcome.” Kipling’s smile was sour. He was so delighted at first to reveal his identity, but no one could speak of the war for very long and stay in good spirits, not even a twisted and stilted man like him.

Solace cursed herself for not noticing sooner just how… odd he was. Emmet had always been the more trusting one out of the two of them, but maybe she wasn’t as shrewd as she thought. Then again, he was a spy. His survival depended on lies. 

“To keep this brief, myself and a network of spies aided your mother in winning the war, all while I maintained my status in the resistance. Even after they were defeated, I kept in contact with them so I could spy on them again if I was ordered to do it. Your mother suspects that not only has Elanthine been looking for allies in the west, she has been contacting the resistance again. She sent me with you on your travels to gauge the loyalty of each noble house and gather as much information as I can, because the resistance still trusts me.” 

“So that’s what this is. A disguise for your assignment. I knew my mother wasn’t stupid enough to send me away to find a commoner to marry and waste an opportunity for a marriage alliance, but I thought the ‘finding weaknesses in the nobles’ ordeal was legitimate at least.” 

Kipling lifted his hand to stop her from speculating any further. “And both of those could be genuine reasons that she arranged this.” 

She shook her head. “Not the marriage. She has a match in mind for me, I’m certain of it. The only question is who. Probably a Jaarvan king or a prince from Khorv. Do either of you know?” 

“She hasn’t mentioned anything to me, Your Highness,” said Nisa. 

“If she has found a husband for you, she hasn’t told me either.” 

Solace sighed, feeling the fury dissipate from her. She was nothing but exhausted now, resting her face in her hands. “She should have told me. I’m not a child anymore. I deserve to know.” 

“You know your mother. She isn’t keen on revealing her complete intentions. Or at least, I’ve never known her to be. Don’t be upset, Your Highness.” 

Nisa stood, crossing the distance between them to place her hands on her shoulders. “You know your mother. She doesn’t like variables. She doesn’t like things she can’t predict, and you can be volatile. She was trying to protect you by keeping you from knowing the truth.” 

“Bullshit,” Solace muttered. “She sent me into an empire wrought with traitors without bothering to tell me why. I don’t feel very protected.” 

Nisa pulled her out of her chair and threw her arms around her. “I’m sorry. She told me her plans because she knew I would keep you safe if I knew what was happening. I wanted to tell you. Believe me, I truly did.” 

“No more secrets.” She considered attaching a threat to the end of that sentence, but her family name was threat enough. “I’m returning to my quarters. Explain to Jasper what’s going on.” 

“I don’t think that’s wise, Your Highness. You shouldn’t know this information,” Kipling reminded. “Her Grace will have my head for this.” 

“Agreed,” said Nisa. “As your advisor, I suggest we don’t tell him.” 

She stood, pushing past the cluttered furniture in the abandoned Calemnar sitting room, making her way to the door. “Those are my orders. He needs to know the truth to properly protect me. He is the man I trust the most, now that I know neither of you are loyal.” 

Nisa wrinkled her brows, having the audacity to look hurt. “I’m not loyal? Your Highness, that isn’t fair” 

“I’m not in the mood to discuss what is or isn’t fair.” 

Solace didn’t bother to shut the door behind her. 

  
  


Ascelin was in the bathroom when they brought the boy in. He shuddered, looking at the soaker tub in the corner, remembering his nightmare. Then he thought of the way his mistress held him, and almost wished to have another one. 

He wet his face in the sink, trying to collect his thoughts. His head was messier than it had ever been. At least he knew for certain that Rosamel loathed him, but his new mistress only confused him. She should hate him, she had every right to. Yet, she didn’t. It was like she couldn’t bring herself to. Why did she treat him like a kitten when she knew what he was capable of? She knew he was a fighter, yet she was the one protecting him. 

Gamel had taken one look at the soaker tub and claimed it as his own for the day. Ascelin hid in the wardrobe while the maids brought buckets of warm water to fill the tub. He has insisted he have a few minutes to himself in the bathroom before Gamel monopolized it. 

He dreaded being alone in his mistress' room with her guards. They stared at him openly, eager to memorize every detail of the princess’ slave. Gamel was much better company. He didn’t stare, didn’t ask him odd questions here and there. He just… didn’t care, and that was a relief. Ascelin wished he could send the prying guards away. He was more than capable of protecting himself. 

These young men and women weren’t the twenty esteemed veterans that his mistress kept as guards. They were ordinary soldiers. He could exterminate the six of them in less than a minute. He shivered, folding his arms over his chest and digging his nails into his shoulders. That violent impulse… it was familiar to him. Terrifying, but familiar. 

Ascelin stepped out of the bathroom to tell Gamel it was his turn in the bathroom, only to see the guards stationed to watch him huddling over something. A young boy, he realized, as he got closer. 

“What’s going on?” he asked. 

Gamel went on unsteady feet to sit on the bed, away from the mess. “I-I’m not sure, exactly. Solace sent him.” 

The steward was loath to even look at the boy. Ascelin had never seen him so disturbed before. He was usually so easygoing, either drunk or well on his way to drunk. 

The boy whimpered, eyes blown wide, jumping from guard to guard as they gawked at him. Ascelin shoved aside the guards surrounding the boy before he realized what he was doing. 

Anxiety paralyzed him immediately. He considered begging them for forgiveness, panic began to bubble up in his throat. He  _ pushed _ the princess’ guards. Ascelin was about to drop to his knees and plead. Then he saw the boy’s back, and any thought of what would happen to him for disrespecting his mistress’ staff disappeared. 

If Ascelin was panicked, the boy was leagues worse. His cheeks were tracked with tears. He trembled violently, cringing away from the guards gawking at him. His hair was blond, or at least, Ascelin guessed it was. He couldn’t identify it through the dirt that covered him like the powdery sand from his homeland across the sea. 

He growled low in his throat, chest rumbling with pain and betrayal and fury. Fury, at  _ her. _ “He’s a whipping boy. She sent a whipping boy. How could she? How  _ could  _ she?” 

He clenched his hand into fists and sunk his teeth into his knuckles, an awful habit of his. He hadn’t known his mistress for long, but he thought she was kind. He thought she was opposed to slavery, that she had only accepted him as a gift out of duty to her family. 

So why did she send a  _ child t _ o punish him in his place instead of correcting him directly?

And… And what had he done to deserve punishment?  _ What  _ had he done? She was so kind to him when she said goodbye only a few hours ago. She was so kind after his nightmare, letting him fall asleep on her lap. She was so kind each time she treated his wounds personally, despite having a personal doctor who could do it for her. She was so  _ kind  _ to forgive him for what happened to her brother. What had changed since he saw her last? What… What did he do wrong? 

How did he make her angry? How, how,  _ how _ ? He played each moment from the last few days. He didn’t do anything to upset her. At least, nothing that she outwardly showed. 

Fuck.  _ Fuck!  _ He didn’t want her disapproval. He just… he just needed her to come back from the feast and hold him, keep him protected from the rest of the world. What did he do wrong? What reason did he give her to send a whipping boy? 

_ You're a bitch, a wretched whore. Look at you, spreading your legs like that. I don’t need a reason to hate you. _ Rosamel’s voice invaded his thoughts and he nearly vomited all over the floor and the boy. No, no no no. Rosamel and his mistress were dramatically different women. The princess was a good person, a secure and confident person who didn’t prove her worth by torturing servants and slaves. They were different! Then again, maybe not. The proof of that was the boy trembling at his feet. 

Maybe it was a misunderstanding. He prayed to every god he could name from every pantheon he could remember that it was. His mistress was gentle, she had to be. She couldn’t be showing her true nature because this wasn’t who she was. He had barely survived Rosamel Galeth. If Solace Buliere was a person who terrorized children at heart, death would be a mercy compared to what she could do to him. 

The boy looked up at him, surrounded by six soldiers and now him. Ascelin realized how terrifying he was to anyone except his mistress, who didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. He was taller than the average man, definitely stronger. He still had the body of the warrior he used to be, as powerless as he had become. And it was the body of a monster from the perspective of a child. 

Ascelin stepped back to avoid frightening him. He wanted to crouch down and scoop the boy up, but would his big hands scare him or make him feel protected? Would his low voice soothe him or make him retreat into himself?

“A whipping boy? The hell does that mean?” Gamel demanded, face going white. Sweat formed on his brow. He looked almost as horrified as Ascelin felt. 

“It’s a tradition in the Odium and a few other nations,” he explained, voice flat and soft and  _ angry _ . The sting of betrayal flared up in him, and he blinked furiously to avoid letting his tears show. “The wealthy buy a boy or girl the age of their children and punish that child instead, so they don’t hurt their pathetic spawn. It’s supposed to teach them a lesson, but it doesn’t work. It only breeds more sadists in the world who are taught consequences don’t apply to them.” 

“Fuck,” Gamel whispered. “Th-Then why did she send him?” 

“To hurt me. To hell with that. If I made her angry, she can discipline  _ me  _ and not an innocent boy. Dismiss the guards for me,” he snarled. 

The guards scuttled back on their own, filing out of the room. He was reminded of his time as an Odite counselor, when his word was obeyed. It had been so long since the Galeth had stolen him from his homeland to answer for the crimes of his peers, it felt wrong to be listened to. 

“Looks like you didn’t need my help for that,” Gamel commented. 

He ignored him, holding his hands up to the boy. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m Ascelin, Her Highness’ slave. I’m sure you’ve already met the princess. What’s your name?” 

“Cillian,” he answered. Ascelin had to lean down to hear him. 

“Are you hurt, Cillian?” 

He shook his head. 

“Can I touch you? I want to get you cleaned up, that’s all.” He opened his arms to him and the boy all but threw himself into Ascelin. That surprised him, and it only made his heart sink further. If this child was desperate enough to trust a stranger… Fuck, what had happened to him? “Did my mistress buy you from the Calemnars?”

The color drained from Cillian’s cheeks when he mentioned the Calemnars. “I-I don’t—I don’t want to—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to,” he assured, patting circles in the boy’s back. He was shirtless, exposing each raised scar from a cane and fresh welts. Ascelin knew those wounds well. They littered his own back, and the backs of the boys he used to smuggle out of the Odium. His ribs jutted out from under his skin. Only a too-small pair of pants was afforded to him, and they were filthy. Worse than filthy. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Can I do that?”

He nodded weakly, and that was all the invitation Ascelin needed. He asked Gamel for permission to use the bath he had drawn for himself, before the filthy whipping boy arrived. The steward gave up his little luxury instantly. The princess seemed to harbor a deep disdain for him, but Ascelin liked him. 

He gathered the impossibly light boy up in his arms and carried him into the bathroom. “Can I take them off?” He gestured to Cillian’s pants. 

Another nod. He was beginning to think he would say yes to all his suggestions. The boy was too far gone to deny him, just like Ascelin was too far gone to deny his mistress. He felt acid crawling up his throat again. No wonder the princess was so resistant to fucking him. He was helpless to her just like Cillian was helpless to him. 

But Ascelin deserved it. He had killed thousands between his years as a mercenary slave and an arena fighter after he bought his freedom. Then his career in bloody entertainment hadn’t made him enough money to get by, so he whored himself to his wealthy sponsors, women and sometimes men who used him and paid him a fortune for it, but it still wasn’t enough to keep him fed and under a roof in Filmorn. When one of his sponsors brought the Berserker to one of his matches, their king-equivalent had been impressed enough to offer him a councilship. He hated the Berserker, the man who conquered his little town and forced his parents to drugs to escape the ruin of what he left behind. The man who turned him and a million others into Odites by redrawing the borders on the west side of the sea with blood and war. He hated him, but accepted the job anyway. For power, and for a safe place to sleep in the Berserker’s palace. 

And what did he do with that power? Nothing. He couldn’t save Emmet Buliere, an innocent caught in the Berserker’s lust for influence. But he could save this innocent. He could bear Solace Buliere’s wrath. 

This boy was different. He deserved none of what happened to him. He was ten at the most, an innocent  _ child _ , tortured into absolute submission. Had his mistress had him all along? Maybe she kept him hidden among the other children in her traveling party. Or maybe she had bought him from the Calemnars. He thought slavery was outlawed in all provinces in the empire, but he was a slave in Keervan. But if the Galeth didn’t follow the empress’ rules, why should the Calemnars? 

He slid the boy’s trousers off, checking the inside of his thighs for the same scars that marred his own. He was relieved to find them pristine. Hopefully, that meant that no one had touched him  _ there _ . His ass wasn’t so lucky. It was marked up terribly.

Ascelin fought the bile building in his throat as he took a sponge from a ledge on the wall and dipped it into the warm water. He didn’t want to ruin the pristine bath water and let Cillian sit in the muck, so he decided to rinse off as much as he could with the sponge before allowing him into the tub. He guided the boy to stand above the drain and mopped up trails of dirt from him with the sponge and little towels on the counter. 

“Here, get in the tub.” Ascelin waited for the boy to respond, but he only stood there and shivered as if he hadn’t heard him. “Okay. That’s okay. I’ll carry you then. Try not to get water in your eyes or mouth, alright? I tried my best to get the dirt off you, but I couldn’t rinse it all off.”

It felt as if he was speaking to himself, yelling into a canyon so deep he could only see darkness at the bottom, and his mind spoke to him in response. Images of what Rosamel did to him played in a loop each time he blinked. His nightmares of the bath were awful enough, but the memories they were built upon, those were worse. 

He had developed a fear of water. The river he struggled through to save that boy should have paralyzed him, but he was there to help someone else, and his instincts overrode his terror. This should also be terrifying to him, but he looked at the boy in his hands and couldn’t think of himself. 

Cillian stared a hole into him. His pale blue eyes wide with uncertainty. He had the face a child shouldn’t have, gaunt and angular like a starving man’s. He itched to intrude into that dining hall and demand answers from his mistress. 

The boy said nothing, only lowering his eyes to look at the bathwater, stained brown with dirt and other things Ascelin didn’t want to think about. His nightmares and memories of Rosamel grew more vivid. How could anyone push a person under the water and enjoy watching them drown? His hands shook just thinking of it. Just when he thought he’d escaped Keervanian wrath, his mistress sent him a whipping boy. What kind of message was she hoping to convey? What was she punishing him for? 

He was good, wasn’t he? He tried to be. He tried to be good! He didn’t understand what he did wrong. He tried to follow all her orders and ignore his own feelings, his own needs. 

With Rosamel, he obeyed to keep himself safe. He despised her under all those layers of reverence. He fantasized about throwing her against a wall over and over until she felt as broken as he did. 

He didn’t obey his new mistress because he feared her. He should fear her, all things considered. He should fear her power and her wealth and the god-blood in her veins, if she was telling the truth. 

When Emmet was a prisoner of the Odium, he had told Ascelin all sorts of stories, stories of his family. He  _ should _ be afraid of her. 

But he wasn’t. He liked her. He trusted her. He didn’t in the beginning, but she had earned his faith in barely five days. No one had done that before, and maybe he was wrong to let down his guard. 

If she thought he would hurt Cillian to punish himself, maybe she wasn’t as smart as everyone credited her to be. Ascelin would sooner rip his own body to shreds than hit him, and she had to know that. She hadn’t owned him for very long, but she had to know he wasn’t a cruel person. A killer, a soldier, a fighter, but not cruel. He would sooner disobey his mistress than hurt a child. 

“How old are you, Cillian?” 

He held up nine fingers shakily. 

“Nine.” Ascelin nodded and forced himself to smile. Nine. Fucking  _ nine _ . “I’m twenty-four. Where were you born? Are the Calemnars your masters, or the princess?” 

Cillian only shook his head, too tired or too timid to answer. Ascelin tried to ignore the anxiety eating at his edges. He rinsed the last of the dirt from the boy and helped it out of the tub. 

“Oh, your pants are filthy,” he tutted. He threw a towel over Cillian. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you something to wear.”

A moment turned out to be ten minutes, and something to wear turned out to be an old and ratty soldier’s uniform, the same one Ascelin wore after he fished that boy out of the river. Wren, that was his name. The uniform had been a little tight on him when he wore it, but compared to Cillian’s thin frame, it looked like it was meant for a giant. It hung off his body like a curtain. 

“You must be hungry.” Ascelin set Cillian down on his mistress’ bed and poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. “Gamel, is there anything to eat?” 

“Not one single thing,” Gamel said. “I’ll ask the maids to bring us some.” He pulled Ascelin to the side. “That child…” 

“I know. He’s not in good condition. He needs a good meal and some sleep.” 

“I can’t look at it.” The steward grimaced. “I—I just can’t. Reminds me too much of my little girl.” 

He frowned. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.” 

Gamel swiped at his mouth with his sleeve and ducked his head. “Well, she wasn’t  _ my daughter _ , but—It doesn’t matter. I can’t stay in here. Will you take care of him? I—” 

“Of course.” He eyed Gamel, trying to pinpoint where his sudden shift in demeanor came from. “But my mistress told you to supervise me.” 

You can look after the boy, can’t you? I can’t stay here, looking at that kid. He’s miserable.” 

“Solace won’t be happy that I’m leaving you alone, but I can’t—I can’t look at this.” He shifted from foot to foot, eying the door. “I need to go—get some air.” 

He nodded. “Go. I’ll manage on my own.” 

Manage on his own. He wondered if he could. He had spent years freeing young Odite recruits, striking the chains from their bodies and sending them home, because there was no one to do that for him when he was younger. He wasn’t a stranger to taking care of broken children, but that was before Rosamel Galeth. He wasn’t sure he could even take care of himself now. 

He took a deep breath, and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Cillian winced at his touch, flinching violently into himself. He felt something unfamiliar when he thought of his mistress. Fury, for putting a  _ child _ in this position. More fury than he thought was imaginable. 

Ascelin wanted to wrap his hands around her delicate throat and demand answers. He wanted to— 

He jumped when Gamel slammed the door behind him, and so did Cillian. The glass of water tipped violently to one side, soaking his new clothes and the bedspread. 

“I’m sorry. I—I’m sorry.” He curled into himself on the bed, protecting his belly with his knees. 

“It’s just a little bit of water. You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, for his own benefit more than anything as the boy began to hiccup and sob. “We’re going to be okay.” 

  
  


Jasper had processed Kipling’s confession remarkably well, only commenting that he had always thought he was suspiciously close to the queen for being a simple doctor and how disappointed in himself that he didn’t recognize Kipling from the war.

Solace stumbled through the door of her guest room. She was departing Calemnar Castle tomorrow afternoon. She would only have to endure a meeting with the Calemnars, and she was free to leave this wretched place behind. 

“Mistress.” Ascelin was upon her immediately, big hands going to her shoulders. He was gentle, palms blazing with life on her open shoulders. 

“Not now,” she snapped. Instantly, guilt coiled around her for being so callous with him. The Calemnars had a terrible effect on her mood, and learning the secrets her best friend and doctor kept from her didn’t do anything to lift it. She was still reeling from it. Her mother sent her on a journey across the empire to disguise a spy. Solace would be having a word with her when she returned. And that might include what she’s wanted to do for years—punching her in the teeth. 

“Mistress,” persisted her slave. 

She stepped out of his arms, turning toward the vanity mirror to begin to unpin her hair. She had dismissed her handmaidens before they could even speak. “I said,  _ not now _ .” 

The irritation was getting worse. She willed herself to stay patient. Snapping at Ascelin was the last thing either of them needed. She began to untwist her hair. The black curls fell out of the braids in waves onto her shoulders. 

“You sent me a  _ boy _ , and he is sleeping in that bed!” Ascelin thrust his finger in the bed’s direction. “I want an explanation.” 

She slammed her palm onto the dresser a little harder than she intended, but Ascelin didn’t flinch. “You will have your explanation, but now  _ sincerely  _ is not the time. I need to send my mother some letters.” 

“When? When are you going to explain why you sent me a fucking  _ whipping boy _ ?” snarled Ascelin. He seized her by the waist, touch gentle but demanding. “Did I do something wrong? I don’t understand, Mistress.” 

“No, of course you didn’t,” she sighed. “Let go of me.”

That should have relieved him, but it only made him angrier. He only tightened his grip, steering his mistress away from the vanity as she swiped at a comb. “Then  _ why? _ ” 

He used too much force, far too much. She staggered, back slamming into the wall. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ascelin. Let go of me.” 

Indignation flared up in him. “You sent me a whipping boy. Did you really think I would hurt him?” 

“Of course not.” She put her hands on top of his, trying to pry them off. But his strength exceeded her own. The gentle touch she had grown used to was a vice on her hips now. “You are testing my patience, Ascelin. Let me pen a letter to my mother, and I will tell you everything you need to know.” 

His mistress wrenched away from him, turning her back to him to finish unbraiding her hair. She wasn’t at all fazed by his little show of strength. She wasn’t even angry, and that only added to the resentment that had been growing inside him since he first saw Cillian.

“Your patience?” he demanded. “I have waited for an explanation for hours! Tell me, do you own that boy? Do you keep him around for your entertainment?” 

She whirled around to look at him, eyes betraying the surprise she couldn’t hide. “Why would you think that?” 

“You are your mother’s daughter.” 

He regretted what he said the instant the surprise evaporated from her face, replaced with fury. That was what had been swirling around his head the entire day. She was a Buliere. She was predisposed to sadism, from what he had heard in the Odium. 

_ Fucking fool _ . He was a fucking fool to believe rumors. He should have kept his thoughts to himself. Her mouth set into a cold line, expression hardening into something he had never seen from her before. Something dangerous. His own surprise bubbled into panic. 

“Don’t presume to know my mother when you don’t even know me,” his mistress hissed, deceptively soft. “Have you forgotten your place?”

“I—”

She drew her hand back and struck him in the cheek. She was deceptively strong, sending him stumbling back. He whimpered, clutching his face like she’d burned him. 

“On your knees.” 

He dropped to her feet. “Mistress, I’m sorry—” he choked out, throat closing around his words. 

“I sent the boy to you because I knew you could protect him, keep him safe.” She grit her teeth, grasping at composure. “He belonged to the Calemnars. Lord Calemnar was about to have him caned. I told him I couldn’t watch, so Calemnar offered him to me as a gift. A peace offering.” 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “Mistress, I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“Quiet,” she growled. “You’ve said enough. Tell me, do you really think my mother is the kind of woman who keeps children to torture?”

The first tear slipped from his eye. He couldn’t stop more from following. “N-No, Mistress. I-I wasn’t thinking.”

“I said, be  _ quiet _ . Answer my questions with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ Otherwise, you’ve said enough,” she repeated. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he sniffed, wiping at the snot dribbling from his nose. 

“I told you I had no need for a slave. When you disobeyed me to rescue that boy from the river, you promised to obey me unconditionally from then on. I told you I needed a few minutes to send a letter to my mother, and you put your hands on me to demand an explanation that same moment. Do you know what that makes you?” 

“I-I don’t know, Mistress.” 

She tipped his chin up with the tip of her shoe, meeting his green eyes. “It makes you disobedient and impatient.” 

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he sobbed. “Please,  _ please,  _ I’m sorry.” 

She placed her foot on his shoulder and forced him prostrate to the ground. “But you are only disobedient and impatient when there are children involved, children who you need to save. Do you know what that makes you?”

“What, Mistress?” 

“One hell of a contradiction,” she answered. “An Odite fighter. Ascelin Saullo, the Lion of Filmorn, risking his life to help children twice in a week.” 

_ You are a contraction as well!  _ He wanted to scream. Solace Buliere, daughter of the conqueress, owner of a slave when she was the heir of the freest nation in the world. 

His cheek rested against the cool hardwood floor, still burning where she slapped him. He wished she would hit him again and finish this ordeal.

“I think that may even make you a good person,” she mused, but the subtle humor that decorated her voice like chimes in the wind was gone. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t amused. His chest heaved, throat ached, tears dripped, as he searched her voice for any indication of what was to come. “Now you have permission to speak. What excuses do you have to make for yourself?” 

“None, Mistress,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…” 

“You didn’t mean to accuse me of keeping a slave?”

“I was wrong,” he whispered brokenly. “I should have known better. Please, punish me. Just… Just don’t let him see.” 

Ascelin pointed at the boy, hand quivering. 

“He fell asleep less than an hour ago. Please, Mistress. Whip me, cane me, cut me. B-But don’t wake him. I’m begging you.” 

Her face was horribly blank, the anger from seconds before gone. That should have been a relief, but he couldn’t read her. He  _ couldn’t read her _ . He had survived up until this point because he knew what people were thinking, he knew what people wanted from him. He put his forehead to the ground in front of her.

“Say something,” he pleaded. He squeezed his eyes shut, eyelashes heavy with tears. “M-Mistress,  _ say something _ .” 

“There isn’t anything left to say.” She drew in a long, shuddering breath. “Fuck, Ascelin, even if I believed in the practice, I have no children to punish. I have no need for a whipping boy. That idea is absurd, don’t you think?” 

He couldn’t beg, he could barely breathe. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mistress. I didn’t want to upset you. I was stupid. I was being a fool. I was—I was angry because Cillian was hurt. I shouldn’t have blamed you. I—”

She bent down and pulled him up the collar of his tunic with one hand, thumbing off the tears from his cheek with the other. Ascelin flinched, lips trembling as she brushed her fingers over them. She drew her pinky along his mouth, so achingly tender that he braced himself for another slap. 

“Cillian, is that his name?” She nodded to the boy sleeping in her bed. “I knew I could trust you to take good care of him.” 

That sounded suspiciously like praise, coming from a woman who should be furious at him. She beckoned him to stand, helping him upright. 

“Accusing me of having a whipping boy would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?” she mumbled into his shoulder. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he agreed, rigid as a corpse. She should be screaming and kicking him across the floor for comparing her to her mother and implying that she kept slaves. 

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, rubbing circles in his back. As petrified as he was, it soothed him. “And you aren’t a ridiculous man, Ascelin. Aren’t you glad you didn’t suggest something as silly as that?” 

Finally, he realized what she was doing. She was offering him a way out.

“I-I don’t understand. You’re not angry with me?”

She shrugged. “I was, for a moment. But I’m too tired to be. I need you to be my friend right now, not some pet I can abuse as I see fit.” 

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured into her hair. She guided him to a loveseat in the corner. “Mistress…” 

“I told you that the next time you misbehaved, I wouldn’t be lenient. I shouldn’t break my promises,” she hummed. “But I once had a friend who never broke her promises. In the end, she died for that, but she died protecting us. I will excuse what you said to me. That’s what she would have done.” 

She sank into the middle of the loveseat.  _ She’s exhausted _ , Ascelin realized. The natural pink glow in her cheeks was gone, and so was the glitter of humor that danced in her eyes. 

He swallowed, taking a seat in the corner of the chair with his hands in his lap, as far away from her as he could manage. “If you aren’t going to punish me, at least allow me to apologize properly. Please.” 

His mistress nodded. “Apologize, then.” 

“I’m sorry for speaking to you in that tone.” He bit the inside of his mouth. “And for disobeying you, and for insinuating things about your mother, and for doubting you, and for demanding an explanation right away. And…” 

She held up her hand and he flinched back, expecting another slap to the face. Instead she reached out and cupped his face with her palm, cold fingers spurring life back into his cheeks. “Enough. Whatever you’re going to say next, consider yourself forgiven. I’m too tired to fault you for being human.” 

He caught his expression in the mirror, blushing furiously, and decided to look at the floor instead. His eyes were puffy and red, cheeks splotchy. Faulting him for being human. That thought struck him hard, struck him speechless. That was the entirety of his life, wasn’t it? Fighting to stay alive and being agonized for it. 

“And I’m sorry that I didn’t send a note with the boy. It would have saved us both a lot of confusion. Consider that last blow your punishment and we can forget any of this ever happened.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” The terrified ice that paralyzed him thawed off his body, and he could breathe again. “Thank you,” he sniffed. 

She rubbed her eyes, staining her fingers with makeup. “Go wet a washcloth for me.” 

He stumbled on unsteady legs into the bathroom, running the softest towel he could find under the sink. It had been three years since he ascended to his position in the Odite council and finally had access to running water, but it still amazed him. The Odite was just as big as Keervan, but only the wealthiest of the wealthy could have water gushing out of a pipe just by turning a handle in the desert wastes. 

He returned to her, kneeling at her feet. She leaned back into the loveseat and ordered him to clean her face. She dabbed lightly at the makeup. 

“You won’t hurt me with a towel,” she chuckled and patted her lap. “Sit.” 

He frowned. “I’m sorry, Mistress, I don’t understand.” 

“Sit on my lap instead of kneeling on the floor. You’ll have more access to my face,” she explained. 

“Aren’t I a little too heavy for you? I’m…” He gestured to his body.

“Built like a warhorse?” she supplied. “I’m not nearly as delicate as I look, I won’t break. Don’t make me ask you twice.” 

He got to his feet, climbing on top of her. “Yes, Mistress.” 

Her thighs felt steady and solid under him. She positioned his legs around her, so they touched behind her back. Even sitting, he towered over her. 

He hunched his back and wiped at her cheeks, watching as the colors on her face smeared and gave way to equally beautiful natural skin. His lover in the Odium, Kalene, once described cosmetics as an art form. The woman in front of him was art with or without makeup, a mosaic of conflicting colors that was too large for him to properly understand. He was looking at her far too closely to see more than one piece of her at a time. 

The white cloth became black from the subtle lines on her eyelids and pink from the pigment on her cheeks and gold with the dust that glimmered on her like powder. He remembered her telling him that the colors of the Calemnars were blue and black, but he thought gold suited her much better than blue ever could. It brought out the light hues in her eyes. 

His scarred and calloused hands looked so worn compared to her unmarred face. She closed her eyes and slumped forward after a few minutes, resting her head on his chest. Did she… did she fall asleep? 

He shook her gently and her eyes fluttered open again. 

“You really are exhausted, Mistress.” 

She yawned. “Dancing for hours isn’t exactly energizing, and I’ve eaten far more than I should. Are you finished, Ascelin?” 

He nodded. “But your hair, it’s still up. I interrupted you while you were undoing it.” 

“Go get the comb from the vanity.” 

He retrieved it and returned to her. She watched him with her hawk-like eyes, expecting him to join her on the loveseat again. Instead, he inched the couch forward and slid between the back of it and the wall. He played with a strand of her hair. It shined in his hands, black as ink. She let out a long breath as he worked his fingers over her scalp. 

She was asleep again by the time her hair was free of all the arrangements her hairdressers had put it in. He considered gathering her up in his arms and putting her in the bed with Cillian, but it was too soon to do something like that without her permission. As much as she insisted she forgave him, no one forgave that easily. He didn’t want to give her another reason to loathe him. 

“Mistress,” he breathed. She mumbled something he couldn’t hear and rose to her feet, swaying slightly. He rushed from behind the loveseat to steady her. 

She waved her hands off him. “I’m only a little bit tired. There’s no need for that.” 

“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry,” he replied automatically. “Maybe… Maybe you should write the letter tomorrow morning. You’re falling asleep every five minutes.” 

“That is…” she paused to yawn again. “That’s a good idea. But I need to treat your wounds first.” 

He wrapped his fingers around her thin wrists. “I’ll do that myself. You need to rest.” 

“Absolutely not. Let me.” She plucked her hands off her and dug the bag of bandages and ointment the doctor had given her. “It’s for my own peace of mind. Don’t look at me like that.” 

“I—Like what?” 

“Like I’m being ridiculous. Take your shirt off. Pants too.” 

He obeyed, dropping his clothes on the floor. Solace unwound the bandages around his torso and winced. 

“I forgot how badly cut up you were. You hide it well.” 

He lifted his arms to allow her better access to the line of stitches under his ribs. “Mistress, a few gashes are nothing to me.” 

“They aren’t nothing to me,” she whispered. “Hold still.” 

She wet a strip of cloth in the tin of ointment and swiped it across his skin. He grimaced when it began to sting. She cleaned the deeper wounds first, focusing on the stitches. Then she replaced the bandages with fresh ones, so fresh they smelled of lavender. 

Her fingers flitted across his back, over his chest, on his hips, leaving flashes of  _ something _ wherever she touched him, something like heat and life. It was numbing like the ointment, but in a different way. He felt safe with this woman, a woman who owned him. She could have him killed at any moment. She could force him into her bed and take him against his will. 

Instead, she ordered him to sit on the loveseat. She knelt on the floor and began treating the wounds on his legs. It was a strange reversal of the natural order. She blotted the wounds with the salve, staining his skin a slight blue. It looked like she was leaving behind bruises, but she was far too gentle for that. 

“You’re healing nicely.” She moved up his legs, grazing the line of stitches on his thigh. “These will be coming off in a couple of days, it’ll be like none of this ever happened. You’ll be good as new.” 

She screwed the lid back on the ointment and sat with him. She ran her thumb over an open wound on his cheekbone. He hissed and bit his lip. 

“This one will leave a mark. I hope this scar doesn’t distract from those pretty green eyes.” 

He pointed to a scar cutting across his left eyebrow, then to one across his forehead, and to one over his cheek. “Do these distract from my eyes, Mistress?”

His mistress looked at him, really looked at him. She took one of his hands in both of hers and found his pulse. Her gaze went from his eyes to his lips. Ascelin’s stomach coiled. “No, they don’t. But I am finding myself distracted of late.” 

“I…” 

She stood, pulling him up by his hand. “It’s time to sleep. The boy, he’s still in my bed.” 

“I can move him,” he offered. 

“No, let him rest. I saw blankets in the armoire. You can sleep on the loveseat.” 

“And what about you?” 

“I’m not sleeping,” she decided. “This is Calemnar Castle, and I’m a Buliere. Not to mention, my cousin has spies on my path and a hunger for my blood. I’ll sleep on the carriage when we leave.” 

He opened the armoire and unfolded the blanket, throwing it over her shoulders. “But you’re exhausted. You didn’t sleep last night. Let me keep watch, Mistress. No one will touch you.” 

“You need sleep as well, far more than I do. You’re wounded.” She drew the blanket around herself and closed her eyes. “I… Okay. Maybe you have a point. We’ll both sleep. ” 

“The both of us, on this little loveseat?” 

She shook her head. “The loveseat is yours. I’ll sleep at the desk chair.” 

“Mistress, there’s a perfectly good bed in this room. It could sleep six people.” He stepped over to Cillian and scooped him up. His head lolled to one side, but he didn’t stir. 

“I told you not to move him,” she hissed. “What if he wakes?” 

He gestured down at the boy in his arms. “He won’t. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I’m sorry for disobeying you, but you don’t look much better.” 

“You’re forgiven, but I will belt you if you wake him,” she warned. “I’m going into the restroom to put on a nightgown. Don’t cause me any trouble when I’m gone.” 

His mistress returned wearing a yellow nightgown, a different one than last night. He wondered how many she had. She patted the spot next to her on the bed. He clambered in next to her, going limp when she slung her arm around him. 

“I’m not going to fall off the bed, Mistress. You don’t need to keep me so close,” he whispered. “I can move to the other side of the bed, if you want.” 

“No. I need you to be close if the Calemnars send someone to slit my throat in my sleep. Besides—” she turned to face him, resting her cheek on his chest, “—you’re warm.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” He buried his nose in her hair. She smelled like pine and the purple desert blooms he used to pick for his mother, an odd combination that was both foreign and familiar to him. “Will you tell me a story?” 

She looked up at him, puzzled for a moment. 

“A story? Well, I’ll tell you the legend of how Orstenthe created my family. Orstenthe is the god of reason and creation. His sister, Oriadna, is the goddess of beauty. Oriadna challenged Orstenthe to create the most beautiful human. In the end, Oriadna won. Her creations became her children, minor gods of a race called the  _ Orianne _ —the image of perfect beauty. Orstenthe’s creations became us, the Bulieres. He brought three of us alive with a drop of his godblood—three sisters. That was four thousand years ago. A thousand years later, Celiose added another.” 

Her eyes began to slip closed. 

“So How much godblood is in your blood?”

“Two drops. The blood of a god cannot be diluted. That’s my mother’s saying. Every Buliere has one,” she explained. “My brother’s is ‘peace is the noblest aspiration of all.’” 

“And what are your words?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe something like… ‘we stand unbridled and…’” 

Her voice fell into silence as she drifted asleep. He grinned down at her. “I told you so, Mistress.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read SnA before the 7th of May, 2020, go back and reread from Chapter One. I've made some changes I've wanted to implement for a long time because I'm a dumbass seat-of-my-pants writer and new ideas occurred to me. If you want to jump straight into this chapter, here are some changes I made: 
> 
> \- fleshed out Solace's aunt in one scene in Chapter One  
> \- gave Solace an ex-fiance (I know lmao) and mentioned him like 3 times  
> \- made more mentions of the gods  
> \- most importantly, made more mentions of the infamous Buliere rage 
> 
> \---
> 
> My lovely friend [Tak138](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/works) made the map below! Go send her love

“You must be joking,” Solace scoffed. It was more of a grunt of surprise than anything. She couldn’t help it. “Oh… You’re seriously suggesting that I marry your son?”

Lord Calemnar’s face was empty of amusement. Warroste, on the other hand, shifted in his seat, eyes fixed the table. He looked to his mother, but she offered no support. 

“I apologize, Lord Calemnar, but on behalf of my mother, I have no choice but to decline. She has other plans for me, I believe.” She leaned back in her seat and took a long, pointed sip from her wine glass, resisting the urge to spit it out into his face. “Besides, I doubt Warroste will be a suitable match for me. He’s five years younger than me, and—” _Our families were at war twenty-five years ago. We were at the brink of war four years ago._ “—and we are strangers.” 

Mentioning the war was the ultimate means to silence the Calemnars or any of the treason-prone smaller houses. It was the easiest way to deny them, but the most dangerous. Each time she heedlessly mentioned the inherent differences of their families the day before, she imagined that one of Calemnar’s brown hairs went grey. It was fascinating to watch his jaw clench and the vein in his temple strain, but she knew better than to stir up more danger for herself than she was already in. 

She was too angry and blindsided yesterday to ask Kipling what his assessment of the Calemnars was. When she asked this morning, he gave the answer she was expecting; disloyal. She didn’t need a spymaster to confirm that. Even if Ascelin hadn’t told her that they were fighting in the Odium without her mother’s permission, the Calemnars had loathed the Bulieres for decades after her family’s conquest, and before that, they were enemy nations for years. 

Kipling had told her the Calemnars hadn’t admitted to planning anything, but she had plenty of reasons to doubt both Lord Calemnar’s word and his. 

She wondered how many people she could truly trust, how many people whose interests were in her benefit and hers alone. Nisa claimed to be loyal, but she couldn’t be relied upon. Gamel was too damn drunk to be a traitor. He was about as useful as a page—not even a proper steward despite his ridiculously high salary. Her brother was teetering on the edge of death on the other side of the empire. Her aunt was married to a Galeth, kept in their castle like a caged songbird for the sake of an alliance. And Tristan was a stranger to her, as much as she hesitated to admit it. For a princess, she was dangerously close to being alone. 

But she had Jasper. That was for certain. And Ascelin, she had Ascelin. He was a man with no ties on this side of the sea but to her. 

She squeezed her fork and took a deep breath. The lower lords of Calemnas had departed for their estates early in the morning. It was almost noon now. In less than an hour, she was set to leave. Just one more hour. 

Her body was starting to punish her for eating too much and sleeping too little. Ascelin had convinced her to sleep, but she couldn’t stay asleep for long, not in this castle. The journey from Castle Calemnar to Fortress Neithock was about a week long. There was plenty of time to recuperate during that time. 

They finished their breakfast in what amounted to silence, only substanceless small-talk. The dining hall was achingly empty with only the four of them at the table and a scattering of guards near the walls. Solace’s retinue wasn’t invited to breakfast. Neither were Masilena and Mallorca, and she was almost glad for that. She regretted insisting that the sisters join them for the feast yesterday. Calemnar seemed to loathe his daughters, and the added tension of their presence didn’t soothe her unease in the least. The clinks of their silverware echoed from wall to wall. 

A panicked knock came from the doors. Knocks had been sounding all morning, but Calemnar had dismissed them all. 

“My Lord!” a muffled voice shouted from the other side. The past four times, there was no speaking. Whatever this was, it had to be urgent. “There is someone at the gates! He wants to see Her Highness. 

Calemnar stood, finally nodding at his guards to open the doors. 

A steward waited in the doorway, panting with his hands on his knees. “Prince Kormian and his retinue are here. They want to see Princess Solace immediately.” 

Footsteps and voices thundered from down the hall, the clang of armor and the ringing of laughter. Prince Kormian burst in, pushing past the steward and the Calemnar guards. His sisters followed him, four fierce soldiers, all willing to kill for the eldest sibling, as was Jarvan tradition. At his side was an unfamiliar woman, but something about her night-black hair and her glimmering yellow eyes… Solace had heard of her before. If only she could remember where. 

“Y-You were supposed to wait at the gates!” the steward protested. 

Kormian’s face split into a wide grin. “My deepest apologies. I’ve never been the patient kind of man.”

He let go of the woman’s hand and extended his in Solace’s direction. She stood and stepped from the dias to take it, crossing the wide expanse of the dining hall. He pulled her into his chest immediately. 

“I’ve missed you, Sol.” 

She should have been as surprised as she was, considering this was Kormian Rielle. _Her_ Kormian Rielle. 

“It’s good to see you again,” she said when he let go of her. She nodded at the warrior princesses guarding him. “Asrea, Risande, Serana, Kiani, a pleasure to see you as well.” 

The four women echoed back their greetings. As younger siblings of the heir, they were tasked with protecting the eldest according to Jarvaan law, not with speaking. It was comforting that even four years later, they were willing to break rules for her. Solace ventured to guess that they were breaking rules just by being in the same room as her. 

“Solace, meet my wife, Eria.” Kormian placed his hand on the small of the woman’s back and guided her forward. “Princess Eriadne of Isuelt, I mean. You know I’ve never been the leading authority on formalities.” 

_Wife._ The word has a strange effect on her. It felt like betrayal, but she knew the betrothal between the two of them was doomed from the start. Even four years ago, she knew. But _Eriadne_ , that name… It had an effect on her as well. 

“You’re Eriadne Losika?” Solace took one of her hands in both of her own and looked into her golden eyes. “The nobles of Keervan who have visited you in Isuelt praise your beauty and grace night and day. Your name rings across the halls, Your Highness. I regret not having met you sooner.” 

The princess of Isuelt offered her a soft smile and shifted from foot to foot under Solace’s stare. “Your Highness, you flatter me. Please, call me Eria.” 

“Eria…” She tested the name on her tongue and smiled. “Of course, Eria, but you must call me Solace. It’s only fair.” 

Her diplomatic instincts had been exhausted from the feast the day before, but they sputtered back to life then. This was her opportunity to create a friendship with the daughter of the Queen Yamalea. Isuelt was a small island nation, insignificant based on their army’s might, but in terms of trade, it was crucial. Jarvaa was a collection of eighteen small states that produced luxuries and championed wars and sponsored artists. The largest port in the world was in Isuelt, and all Jarvaan goods passed through it. It was the key between the east and the west. 

Kormian had wronged her in ways beyond count, but here he was, delivering a gift to her. A friendship with Eriadne, his… wife. 

“Lord Calemnar, let me introduce you to my dear friend, Prince Kormian Rielle of the ninth state of Jarvaa.” She beckoned the Calemnars to join them where they stood at the door. “And these are his sisters, the warriors Asrea, Risande, Serana, and Kiani.” 

Calemnar, his wife, and Warroste eyed the six newcomers, greeting them as innocently as they could. 

“Lord Calemnar, I remember you! From…” Kormian hesitated for a moment, but she knew exactly what he was about to say. From Elanthine’s revolution four years ago. “From the parties the empress used to host and the lovely wedding you invited my family to. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.” 

“You have,” Calemnar grunted. “I was having breakfast with the princess before you arrived.” 

Kormian flashed him a disarming smile, but maybe it only worked on Solace, because the lord’s face twisted into a sneer. The smile dropped from his face, and he looked to her for help. She eyed Calemnar, then her guards, giving them a small nod. They silently shifted their coats to better reach the swords in their scabbards if she gave them the word. 

“I’m so sorry for interrupting you, My Lord, but I have urgent business to discuss with Solace,” he explained, a flush creeping up his cheeks. She had never known him to be the tactful type, and it seemed that hadn’t changed. 

“And I ought to be going now,” Solace added. “Thank you for breakfast, Lord Calemnar, but I need to start preparing my troops for our journey to Fortress Neithock.” 

The steward approached Calemnar and cupped his palm around the lord’s ear to whisper something. Calemnar furrowed his brow and squeezed his fingers into fists. She could almost hear the squeak of his leather gloves. 

“You brought an army onto my grounds, Prince Kormian?” Calemnar hissed. 

“Ah.” Kormian rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh…” 

“I’m sorry if we’ve offended you, My Lord, but our military presence isn’t meant to serve as a threat,” Eriadne said. Her voice was airy, smile unassuming. “Even in times of peace people of our status shouldn’t travel without protection. Surely you understand?” 

Calemnar’s murderous glare softened as he eyed Eria. Solace’s skin crawled. Anyone who looked at _her_ that way would be dead by now. He drew in a long breath between clenched teeth and said, “You are forgiven for intruding on my land with an army uninvited, but next time I expect some sort of warning before you decide to appear on my land, or there will be blood.”

Solace knew better than to believe him. If Calemnar was anything like her mother described him to be, he was planning a method of slaughter for their armies already. 

He turned to his steward. “How did an army pass our defenses without me noticing anyway?” 

“My Lord, we were trying to reach you, but you seemed distracted with the princess,” answered the man. “They arrived sometime during the night, and you’ve been occupied all morning. We have our forces at the gates, in case they attempt to enter the palace.” 

“That won’t be a concern,” Kormian assured. 

Calemnar scoffed. “Forgive me if I don’t trust the word of a Jarvaan. You have until noon to leave Calemnas, or we will have a war on our hands.” 

“Trying to intimidate my friend with treason, Lord Calemnar?” Solace intervened. Everyone looked to her. “Territories of Keervan aren’t permitted to declare war without the permission of my mother, and she isn’t here to grant it to you. Prince Kormian isn’t in your land, he is my friend, in _my_ kingdom. Speak to him that way again, and—” 

There were so many things she could say. She could expose that they already _had_ committed treason by going to war against the Odium behind her mother’s back. She could threaten to have his throat cut open and his body flung into the kennels. She could forgo all warning and order her guards to do exactly that this very minute. 

She tried not to smirk as Calemnar paled at the mention of treason. They were both thinking of the Odium. But Nisa had a point last night, better not to provoke him past the edge and jeopardize the unsteady peace thousands of Keervans died to secure for the sake of her ego. 

“—You will answer to my mother,” she finished seamlessly. That was a safe option, a reasonable warning. “The Rielle siblings will go where they please when they please, do you understand?” 

“Yes… Your Highness,” He glared down at Solace, face set into a grimace carved from iron. 

Solace wasn’t a short woman, but she wasn’t a tall one either. She wasn’t one to crack because someone was taller than her. She stared back, eyes blank, expression relaxed. Not a single flaw in her posture, not a single crack in her exterior, no matter how hard the Calemnars looked. “Thank you again for breakfast. I’m going to convene with my staff before the parting ceremony. I trust you’ve made it a small affair?” 

“I have, Your Highness,” he replied. 

And then they parted ways. From the way her mother described them, Solace expected the Calemnars to be as rabid as the Galeths, only with more children and better diplomacy. She had only visited them once or twice, at their weddings when she was much younger. 

She had expected a temper as furious and destructive as a spring hurricane on her city’s shores. The high lord was angry, that had been clear to see, but he was composed for the most part. 

The Calemnars were closer to the Bulieres than the Galeth. She had slowly realized that throughout the past two days. Aside from keeping fucking _whipping boys_ , they were remarkably similar. Vindictive, competitive, manipulative, deceptive, disloyal. That was her family, and that was theirs. Maybe her mother exaggerated how brutal they were. It was no secret that she struggled with nuance and resorted to extremes from time to time. 

Then again, maybe they were better at hiding the true scale of their brutality than even she could detect. 

Fuck, she still had to send that letter to her mother. Ascelin had managed to sing-song her into sleeping before she had a chance to, the damn siren. It was going to be a long one, to say to least. She needed to ask about Emmet and confront her about Kipling _and_ tell her that the Calemnars had broken their war restrictions. 

Kormian placed a hand on her shoulder as they walked side-by-side down the hall toward the courtyard. She hadn’t registered that he was taking them there until that second. Eriadne trailed a few paces behind them, head bowed and shoulders hunched. “Come, Sol. There are things I must tell you and things I must show you.” 

“What’s going on, Kormian?” she snapped. 

She stopped, and so did the Rielle sisters. They watched her, waiting for her orders. That would have been odd, considering that she wasn’t the one under their protection, but Solace’s history with them complicated things. There was a time, years ago, when she considered the four of them her best friends next to Nisa and Tristan. 

“We aren’t meant to see each other, not after… It doesn’t matter. Why are you here?”

He leaned into her, hands on her waist. She stepped away, putting her hands out to keep distance between them before she did something she regretted. He winced, and she almost felt guilt. Almost. 

“Because we are doomed to repeat what happened four years ago,” he whispered, leaning in again. She allowed it this time, because she knew all too well what he meant by ‘four years ago.’ “I discovered six weeks ago that Elanthine is gathering support in Jarvaa, and my father has already agreed to help her.” 

“Of course,” Solace muttered bitterly, swallowing revulsion to keep her perfectly blank exterior from crumbling. 

So it was true. Elanthine, in Jarvaa. Her legs suddenly felt unsteady. She hadn’t fully believed it until Kormian was in front of her, confronting her with the truth. 

When she was thirteen, one of Tristan’s older brothers called her fearless. She wore that pride for months, partly because she was convinced she was madly in love with him. When she was seventeen, she discovered that she wasn’t fearless, not as long as Elanthine was alive. 

“Of course. Of _fucking_ course,” she said. “Your father did the same last time.” 

“Solace, you know I’m sorry about that. I had no part in it, I swear,” he appealed. And fuck, even after so many years, his pleading had an effect on her, as much as she loathed to admit it. “I’m here because he threatened to kill me if I didn’t pledge support to Elanthine alongside him. You were the only person I knew I could trust.” 

“You father will hunt you to the ends of this earth. By coming to me, you’ve made me a target alongside you,” she hissed. “I don’t know if I can help you.”

Kormian started walking again, guiding them through the courtyard and toward the walls. He set a fevered pace, not seeming to consider that her legs were shorter than his, and spoke in a hushed tone. “But I brought an army. The people I could convince to desert my father. Please, Sol, all I need is your protection, your name.” 

She shook her head. What did he think she would say? “My name is my mother’s name. You know she will never forgive your family for betraying us.”

“It’s been four years!” he burst out. 

She met his eyes and said slowly, “Betrayal is forever, Kormian.”

“But it wasn’t my decision!” he protested. “It was my father’s. You know if I had a choice I would have chosen you and not some traitorous bitch.” 

“I am my mother’s daughter. You are your father’s son. Her choices are mine. His choices are yours. Nothing can change that. We aren’t our own people. I can’t protect you because my mother won’t protect you.” 

He huffed, throwing his hands up in frustration before letting them fall to his sides, defeated. Whatever he was about to say evaporated from her tongue. “Sol,” he murmured. “Do you still—” 

Solace didn’t allow herself to react, to blink, to _breathe_. She knew him well enough to know exactly what he was about to say. And she knew herself well enough to know exactly why she had to tell him the truth. “No. Don’t you fucking dare ask me that when your wife is standing right there.” 

His face fell, contorting into something that looked terribly close to anguish, for someone who should feel nothing for her anymore. “We… we’re married for political reasons. There’s nothing between us. To be honest, I don’t think she even likes men.” 

“Kormian, before you say anything else, remember that our chance together was destroyed four years ago.” She wanted to tell him that he had split her heart into pieces when he told her his father had joined Elanthine’s forces. She wanted to tell him that anything she ever felt for him had evaporated that very second. 

She held her tongue. That would only stir up old memories—ones she wanted gone. 

“But… I will protect you. I’m not going to let your father hunt you like a fox and kill you to prove a point.” 

He nodded morosely, so different from the affable young prince she was familiar with. “Thank you, Solace. I hope I can prove that you’ve made the right choice somehow..” 

They walked through the courtyard in silence. It was an expanse of flat grass and pavestones, littered with training equipment. It was a far cry from her family’s stately gardens. They approached the walls. A line of guards stepped forward, pointing their spears at the Jaarvans until Solace stepped forward from where she had been standing behind Kormian and cleared her throat. They lowered their weapons, apologizing until she ordered them to stop. 

He brought her into the wall and up two flights of stairs. When she reached the top of the wall, she drew in a short, unsteady breath. She was used to forces of this size in Orsten. The capital crawled with soldiers. But the ninth state of Jaarvan wasn’t exactly a military superpower. She hadn’t expected that he could convince so many troops to desert their king. 

Kormian’s army stood side-by-side with her own. Keervan green and gold next to the ninth state of Jaarva’s blue and cream. The two powers hadn’t been so close in years, although she supposed they were the two armies of traitors. He was a traitor for deserting his father, and she was a traitor for agreeing to join forces with him. 

_Traitor,_ that was a dangerous label. A label that meant death in the Buliere court. Her mother wasn’t exactly fond of any Jaarvan after Kormian’s father betrayed her. If Solace wasn’t her only heir left, she couldn’t imagine what she would do to her. Emmet rarely misbehave as a child 

“There must be at least eight thousand men here,” she breathed. “And I only have six thousand. Who is protecting who?” 

“Ten thousand,” Kormian corrected. “And you are still protecting me, Sol. These are all the soldiers I have. When you return to Orsten, you’ll have hundreds of thousands.” 

“Ten thousand. That’s incredible. It has to be at least a fifth of your father’s army.” 

He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded ahead to his commanders. “Solace, this army isn’t here to only protect me. Together, we have sixteen thousand men to guard the both of us.” “Elanthine is starting a revolution. You’re vulnerable. You’re the only heir left to Keervan, and you’re away from the capital. She’ll come for you first.” 

“Sixteen thousand men can only delay her. She wants me dead.” She rested her hands in the space between two battlements and surveyed the sea of Jaarvan soldiers. “Is she still furious that I rejected her arrangement? It was years ago.” 

He chuckled, and she realized that was a ridiculous question that she already knew the answer to. “Yes. She still faults you for refusing to betray your own mother.” 

“She is a joke of a Buliere. We do not betray our own blood.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the onset of a headache already. Elanthine was a heavy subject, to say the least. “Nisa tells me my mother should have killed her when she had the chance. I’m starting to agree with her.” 

“She does have a point.” He took her by the hand and led her back to the stairs. “Come, let’s get out of this damn castle. My commanders are waiting for us just outside. Let me introduce you to them.” 

They were just past the gates when a stampede of footsteps came from the other side of the towering stone wall. They stopped, halfway between the wall and the army. 

Solace turned as the guards pushed open the gates again. Lord Calemnar and Warroste were approaching them, fury on their faces. _Fuck_ , what was it this time? She narrowed her eyes and caught sight of a pair of guards dragging a barely conscious man across the gravel path. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw his shockingly green eyes, only greener in reference to the blood on his face, searching for her in his panic. 

They found him. Fuck, the Calemnars had found him! And they hadn’t been gentle with him from what she could make out. Blood poured into his face from a cut on his forehead, and even from this distance, she could see the bruises beginning to form on his neck. His arms and legs were bound by rope, tight enough that his hands were going purple. 

“What the hell are you doing with him?” she demanded, rushing forward. Kormian caught her by the wrist and tugged her back. 

He pulled her into him. “What’s happening? Why are you so upset?” 

“They have my slave. More than my slave, my _friend!”_

He cocked his head. “I thought slavery was forbidden in Keervan.” 

“I’ll answer your questions later.” She wrenched herself out of Kormian’s grasp. “Now isn’t the time.” 

Solace rushed to Ascelin, but Calemnar’s guards held up their spears and pushed her back. “Scratch me, and you will be executed on the spot,” she warned. “Lower your weapons.” 

The guards hesitated a second longer than she had the patience for. 

“Lower your fucking weapons!” she screamed. “Or I swear by the _gods_ , I will start a slaughter right here and now, and you will be to blame. Drop them, or give me your names.” 

Their spears clattered to the gravel. Calemnar sputtered, about to order his troops to run her through with their blades, but she shot him a glare that threatened four thousand years of Buliere rage, and he stood down. 

Maybe it wasn’t the Buliere name that convinced him. Maybe it was a Buliere committing heresy that had frightened him. 

Heresy. She invoked the gods, made a promise on their names. The Calemnars were traitors, but she was a _heretic_. Her fingers trembled violently, and for a moment, she feared the entities that had given her everything were about to take everything away. 

_I’m sorry,_ she mouthed to the sky. 

She waited a beat, just one breath, for the gods. Waited to dissolve into smoke. But she didn’t. Her flesh stayed upon her bones, her blood kept flowing in her veins. Her creators were merciful.

“You brought a Odite into my home!” the lord accused. “A filthy fucking Odite!” 

For the first time, Solace wished her mother was here. With her prestige, with her army, with her history of crushing Calemnars like ants. She wished she was five again, watching the empress address and execute traitors in her court, instead of being the one responsible for handling them herself. She certainly felt like a child. She felt like Elanthine was in front of her, holding a toy out of her reach, taunting her. 

_Elanthine_. 

Something changed. She felt bigger, stronger. Like her body wasn’t her own. That was her breaking point, _Elanthine_. 

If Lord Calemnar did to Ascelin as Elanthine had done to Mira, there would be hell to pay. She would bring the sky down on this castle, on this kingdom, on this damn world, and she would bring the gods down with it. If the gods allowed this to happen, she would ravage their universe with four thousand years of Buliere rage and four thousand more. 

_Heretic, heretic, heretic. You were just offered forgiveness and you have already turned back to heresy!_

Her breathing quickened as her lungs closed in on themselves. She needed to get to Ascelin. She needed to cut those ropes from his body and wipe the blood off his face. 

_HERETIC!_

_Elanthine—heretic—Elanthine—heretic_ — _Elanthine, Elanthine, Elanthine…_

She saw Mira’s face, flesh ripped off her skull and hair torn from her scalp. She heard Nisa’s screams as she sobbed over what remained of Mira’s body until she ran out of air and collapsed on the cracked tiles. She felt Elanthine slapping her to the ground and spitting on her while the palace laid in ruins. She tasted the blood in her mouth and the fury on her tongue. 

_Kill them. Kill them all. KILL THEM ALL! EVERY LAST ONE OF THESE TRAITORS UNTIL THEIR LANDS ARE STAINED RED FOR ETERNITY!_

**END THEIR BLOODLINES. BY THE GLORY OF THE GODS, END THEIR BLOODLINES.**

She felt them then, four millennia of Bulieres, their spirits crying down at her in unison. Hundreds of voices from the sky, voices only she could hear. This was the closest she had felt to the gods in her life, the first time in twenty-one years she truly felt the rage, the infamous rage that waited in her blood. 

And she had thought it would never come. She thought she was some anomaly who would never experience it. 

_Traitors, traitors, traitors! Thinking they can keep their secret. Prove them wrong, provethemwrongprovethem—_

“YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!” she roared. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did in the Odium. You went to war without our permission.” 

Calemnar was unimpressed by her outburst. He should be. He should be terrified. _Terrify him!_ cried her ancestors. 

He sneered. “Your mother wouldn’t have avenged her son. We did it for her.” 

The voices broke from their perfect unity, hundreds of different opinions, hundreds of rulers speaking in her head. Her vision blurred, her ears rang in siren-pitched tones. But she knew what to say, she knew it as well as she knew her own name and face. 

“You invaded the Odium with the Galeth because your family has hated them for centuries. Do _not_ parade around revenge as if you’re a moral authority.” 

“I—”

“I know exactly what you are, Lord Calemnar, and I know exactly what I want to do to you,” she snarled. “I will bring my slave wherever I please, because you are the reason he is a slave in the first place.” 

“You’re a hypocrite,” Calemnar shot back. “Your grandfather conquered my country because he thought he was some savior sent by your gods to abolish our way of life. And here you are, with a slave, in _my_ home.” 

“I only have this slave because of you!” she repeated. 

“Enough, Princess,” he leered. “You brought an Odite into my home. He had no place here. You disgrace my castle and your name. Bring him to the gallows.” 

_Kill him. Make him pay. It is your RIGHT. Crack his skull under your foot like a skylark’s wing! Hang him by his feet and bleed him from the throat! KILL HIM. IT IS YOUR RIGHT._

“NO!” she shrieked. “Let go of him, or I will—”

“There are a thousand soldiers manning this castle. A thousand blades, pointed at you, Your Highness,” he scoffed. “What, exactly, will you do?” 

She flung her hand back, pointing at the ten thousand Jarvaans and six thousand Keervanians behind her. “Sixteen thousand blades are pointed at _you_! I am done being civil with you, Calemnar dog. If you hurt him, I will melt your stone walls and spill your blood on the dirt. You have, what, fifty thousand troops in Calemnas? Only a thousand are here right now. We outnumber you sixteen to one.” 

War. She was threatening war. She wasn’t the Empress of Keervan, she was veering into treason herself. 

_WAR!_ demanded her ancestors, and all her qualms disappeared. 

“I will chase you into your castle and keep you there until you _starve!_ ” she screamed. “I will call upon my mother, and she will bring half a million soldiers to your doorstep to collapse your home on top of you. LET HIM GO!” 

Somewhere in her blind fury, Nisa and the rest of her retinue had arrived. Separated from her by a wall of Calemnars, Nisa gawked at her like Solace was someone she didn’t recognize anymore. 

_“I am a Buliere_ ,” hundreds of voices cried out, including her own. “ _I will show you the glory of the gods.”_

The voices quieted, leaving her ears ringing in the absence. The voices had threatened to crush her, but the silence might have been worse. But they weren’t gone, she… she felt them. She still needed them. 

Warroste’s eyes snapped to his father’s. “Did you hear that?”

Calemnar paled. “It’s the rage. I—fuck! Quickly, let her through.” 

She didn’t need another invitation. She shoved the lord aside and ducked between the guards to kneel at Ascelin’s side. She cupped his face, feeling the furious pounding of her heart as she mapped each new injury. His eye was beginning to swell, it would be black in less than a day, by her estimation. His cheeks were lined with parallel scratches, likely from someone grabbing his face from behind. His lip was split open, oozing blood. Worst of all was the gash on his forehead, spilling blood down his face. 

Fuck, just when he was beginning to heal, she had neglected him to let him be hurt again. 

“Mistress,” he rasped. 

“How many?” she hissed. “How many of those bastards did you hurt before they could stop you?” 

“I-I don’t know. Ten? Fifteen? I’m not as strong as I used to be and—”

“How many did you kill?”

“None,” he replied. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to fight back, I’m sorry if you didn’t, I—”

“Oh, Ascelin,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

Before she recognized what she was doing, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his in front of her guards, in front of Calemnar and his family, in front of Kormian and his sisters, in front of the Princess of Isuelt, in front of her retinue, in front of her allied armies of sixteen thousand combined. 

Her lips came back stained deep crimson. She wiped the blood from her mouth and met his glassy green eyes. He searched her face for answers, as if she was wrong to kiss him. And maybe she was. 

She had just condemned herself. 

“What happened?” she asked. 

Warroste and his parents stood just out of earshot. Ascelin nodded shakily to him before shifting his eyes to the ground. “He came into your room with some guards and then he found me. I think he was spying on you. He must have recognized me and—and—” 

“That bastard. That fucking _bastard_ ,” Solace spat. She called forward one of her guards, a woman named Carelle. “Cut these ropes.” 

Ascelin rubbed his wrists as she cut his binds from his body. Solace helped him to his feet when he was free. 

“Asrea, Risande, please…” A piercing headache began in her temple. She clutched her head, wincing. “Please bring him to my carriage.” 

The twins didn’t wait for Kormian’s permission, carrying Ascelin away as he looked back at her, helpless. His voice was nothing compared to hers, not that he would have protested anyway. He only stared at her. Everyone was fucking staring at her like she was a god incarnate. 

And maybe she was. God incarnate. She had certainly felt like it five minutes ago, but she was exhausted now. It felt like training in the summers with Jasper, after being forced to run for hours under the hot Orsten sun. Her body was about to give up. 

“Solace!” 

Nisa pushed past the Calemnars and caught her as she began to sway. The world spun out from under her feet. She fought the fatigue biting at her as she lay in her best friend’s arms. 

_Rest now, you have done what you needed to_ , whispered to her ancestors as they faded. 

“No…” she pleaded softly, so softly that not even Nisa could hear her voice. “Don’t leave me yet, I need you.” 

_You are us._

She tried to call out to them. Nothing. They were gone. 

And suddenly, her mind was her own again. The voices had left her, but the exhaustion had not, and neither had her headache. Damn her body, damn this pain, she had to finish this. She forced herself to her feet, forced herself to look at Calemnar.

“If I leave my soldiers to garrison your castle until my mother can arrive here and deal with you, you’ll call upon your other fifty thousand to overwhelm us.” She pushed Nisa aside and squared her shoulders, hoping no one could see the tremoring of her body. “My mother’s army will be here in four days, but if you rally all your lower lords quickly, yours will be here in only three.” 

Calemnar said nothing as she gasped out everything her mother had taught her, everything her war tutors had pounded into her head. 

“How much is your word worth, Lord Calemnar?” she asked, finding her strength again. 

“More than your family will ever admit,” he spat. 

She straightened her shoulders and willed herself to look taller and stronger than she really was. “You’re an intelligent man. If I leave your home peacefully, can I trust you not to attack me as I return to the palace?” 

A moment of silence, then two. She was afraid they had reached an impasse, and her mind began to wander. She could slaughter everyone in this castle, but the lower lords of Calemnas would join their troops and punish her dearly. If she killed everyone now and started the journey home, the remaining army of Calemnar would be upon her right before she reached the palace and the safety of her mother’s power. 

“You can trust me.” 

Solace stuck her hand out. Calemnar took it. She yanked him forward and hissed in his ear, “Take it as a blessing that I haven’t killed you. If you break your promise, you’ll ruin my little army, but you won’t kill me, and you certainly won’t kill my mother. She has half a million soldiers and half a million more mercenaries at the ready. Now, give me your son.” 

“My son?” 

“As insurance,” she snapped. “Give your heir to me, and I’ll return him when I’ve arrived safely in Orsten.”

Calemnar paled. “You cannot possibly think I’ll accept that.” 

“I can. You were so eager to turn him over to me this morning,” she scoffed. “You are in no position to negotiate with me, traitor. I should have you punished for damaging my slave. You insulted my name by touching my property.”

“This—This is an act of war!” he sputtered. 

She couldn’t suppress her laugh. “War between our families ends in only one way, Lord Calemnar.” She nodded toward her army, toward Kormian’s. 

The high lord looked from her to his son, to his wife, to his advisors. Then, he seized Warroste by the arm and threw him toward her. 

“You are an animal,” he growled as his son and heir was taken by her guards. 

“No.” Solace’s face split into Elanthine’s smile. “I am a Buliere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect updates more slowly as the semester comes to a close. I have a lot of responsibilities this time of year even though writing is all I want to do! For those of you who've been with me from the beginning, I probably won't be able to replicate the 3 chapters in 4 days pace I used to write at, even during the summer. Chapters are getting longer and the world is getting bigger. 
> 
> Leave me a comment and I'll give you a cookie.
> 
> \---
> 
> PS, the map can be kind of blurry. So the capital of Keland is Dharney, the capital of Tarcaria is Melhold, the capital of Medith is Meiatith, the capital of Wrawen is Ebengro, the capital of Merdonia is Glory, the capital of Mahaij is Mercy, Isuelt is a city-state, and the capital of Jaarva is Elstei's Ridge. If you don't know that the capital of the Odium is Filmorn and the Capital of Keervan is Orsten I'm going to take you to the back of the shed and bring a baseball bat with me. 
> 
> The only countries you really need to pay attention to right now are Keervan, The Odium, Isuelt, and Jaarva. All you really need to know is that they exist. Oh, and Elanthine has a little island where she's exiled Napoleon-style.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-read so excuse inevitable mistakes, thanks!
> 
> TDLR for the politics at the bottom because I don't trust myself to be completely comprehensive when I write it.
> 
> PS: Neithock is pronounced Night-Hawk but smushed together. Idk man it sounded cool so I stuck with it.

Elanthine had briefly kept a black lion as a pet when Solace was a young girl. She didn’t remember anything about the beast other than how it died. Like everything belonging to Elanthine Buliere, it was more than a little bit brutal. The guards had run it through with half a dozen blades before it collapsed on the paving stones, but it was too late to spare the young serving girl who had somehow upset it. The empress tightened her control on her niece after that, but none of them could forget the image of the dead girl. 

Solace was the one with the pet lion now, and she seemed to be equally as irresponsible as her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, cradling Ascelin’s face as tenderly as she could. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Mistress,” he said.

She dabbed his new wounds with Kipling’s ointment. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” 

“You didn’t have a choice.” He flinched, screwing his eyes shut as the ointment burned. Reactionary tears slipped down his face. “You couldn’t have foreseen that the Calemnar boy would barge into your room and find me.” 

She thumbed the tears from his skin. “I don’t know what he was expecting to find. Did you give those Calemnars a taste of your fury?”

He nodded. “Those guards are nothing compared to the arena fighters of Filmorn.” 

She patted his cheek gently—so as to not disturb his new bruises. “Good.” 

“You’re not angry with me, Mistress?” 

“No. Of course not.” She brushed his hair back behind his ear. “You did exactly as you were supposed to. Now, stay in here while I speak to my retinue.” 

He gently grabbed the hem of her sleeve as she turned to leave. “Wait! What about Cillian? Where is he?” 

The whipping boy. Of course, even now, Ascelin thought of everyone but himself. It was noble, and she couldn’t help but admire nobility. “I sent Tristan to find him. He should be with him. Don’t worry about the boy, okay?” 

He let go of her. “Okay, Mistress.” 

Solace took a long breath before opening the door, burning her nose with the potent sour smell of the ointment. Her friends would have a slew of questions, and she only had a few answers. The rage, the Calemnar betrayal, the Rielles, Ascelin. She could hear them already. 

Solace closed her fingers around the handle and turned it. She stepped to the ground in front of her carriage and regretted coming outside immediately. It was no secret that she had gone to Ascelin right away to buy herself a little more time before facing them. She was already nervous to have him out of her sight.

Nisa and Kipling were exchanging glances that looked almost conspiratorial while Tristan stood with the whipping boy, looking back at Calemnar castle in the distance. Jasper and Gamel openly stared. Kormian and his sisters waited to the side. All of them expected answers. She wished she had them herself. 

She wanted to flee back into the carriage with Ascelin. She had gone straight to him after securing Warroste as her hostage to avoid this, but she couldn’t run from questions forever. 

“We’re returning to Orsten,” she said immediately. 

“Of course we are!” Tristan shot back. “You just started a war.” 

“I didn’t start a war. I—” The words withered in her throat. All of them knew she did exactly that. 

Nisa shot her a glare. “Took the Calemnar heir hostage after threatening them with the rage  _ and  _ your new army. Those are acts of war. You were comparing troop numbers and threatening them with divine justice, Solace! ” 

“I’m not exactly in control of the rage.” She could hear the futility in her own voice as she grasped at excuses. “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Not reigniting a rebellion would have been a good place to start.” Tristan let go of the whipping boy and stepped closer to her. “How many of my relatives died in your mother’s wars twenty-five years ago? How many of us died in Elanthine’s revolution? Are you going to send us to fight your battles again?” 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Solace said. “We need to return to Orsten and shelter Kormian until we overthrow his father and send him back home. We let my mother deal with the Calemnars and Elanthine and Kormian’s father, and this will all be forgotten in a few months.” 

A child. She felt like a child. Spoiled, naive, reckless. Those were her mother’s words for her. Those were her own words for herself. 

“It would have been if you didn’t take Warroste!” Nisa cried. “What were you thinking? You’re out of your mind.” 

“I had no way to secure safe passage to Orsten. If I didn’t take him, Calemnar would have followed us with his larger army when he rallied it. He would have been on us in days.” Solace ran her fingers through her hair to hide her shaking hands. “This way, at least we’ll avoid conflict for a little while.” 

Everyone looked to Nisa. Since when had she become her dissident instead of her best friend? “That would have worked if the Calemnars valued their children as much as your family does, but they don't. You saw what they did to those twin girls. I heard rumors around the castle that they crippled them because they tried to escape. They married off three of Warroste’s siblings and crippled two others. What makes you think using him as a shield will stop Lord Calemnar?” 

“I had no other ideas! I couldn’t  _ think  _ with the rage demanding blood.” 

Jasper held up his hand to stop the two of them. “You have a point, Your Highness. During the war, then the rage took your mother, she couldn’t think either. Neither could Emmet during the revolution. But that doesn’t change the situation you’ve put us in.” 

She sat on the carriage steps, hands on her temples. “What do I do?” 

“If kidnapping Warroste was the issue, why don’t you just return him?” Gamel said. 

“It’s too late for that,” Solace and Nisa snapped in unison. Fucking Gamel. 

Jasper added, “It won’t soothe the new wound between the princess and the Calemnars. Her Highness ought to keep her promises and return him safely  _ after  _ we’ve reached Orsten.” 

Solace took a deep breath. “Right. Return to Orsten immediately, return Calemnar, deal with Elanthine and send Kormian home.” 

Kormian grimaced. “About that… I just received word from my scouts that my father’s army knows I’m at Castle Calemnar. They’re five days away and approaching quickly. There’s no path to Orsten that won’t intercept them. If we return to the palace, we’ll have to face my father’s army along the way, and we don’t have enough numbers to survive that.” 

“Damnit!” she screamed. Fuck her luck. At this rate, if someone told her the entire Odium was about to descend upon her she would believe it. “How did this happen? How did my mother allow an enemy’s army on her soil?” 

“They landed in a bay, close enough to Orsten to block our passage back to the city, but not close enough to be seen by her,” he explained. 

“Are we out of options? Nisa, Jasper, any ideas? Is there anywhere we can go?” 

“We could continue with our original plans and ride to Fortress Neithock. It’s a week away, but if we can shake the Rielle army until we get there, we’ll be safe for a long time,” Jasper said. “The fortress could feed and house all of our troops for up to two months.” 

She should have brought more war counselors. Jasper was a veteran, the closest she had to one right now. He was among her oldest friends, certainly the wisest. Still… “We would be walking into a siege. We would be  _ inviting  _ it.” 

“Better to be trapped in a fortress than to be slaughtered in a field,” said Kormian. “Send your mother a letter and ask for assistance right away. As soon as she arrives, it’s over. There is no even ground between my father and your mother. She will slaughter him.” 

Nisa cut in. “Assuming that only your father is involved. You told me the only reason you deserted was because of Elanthine. And if she is your father’s ally again, she may bring in other allied forces to attack you.” 

“And the Calemnars have always supported whoever opposes the Bulieres,” Jasper added. 

Solace’s head snapped up. “You’re not suggesting that the Rielle and Calemnar armies will join forces under Elanthine, are you?” 

“They connected through Elanthine and their hatred for you,” said Nisa. “Think about it. King Sartenus Rielle wants his son back. In exchange for her help, he’ll turn you over to her. Lord Calemnar—”

“—wants his son back. In exchange for her help, he’ll turn me over to her,” Solace finished. She couldn’t hide her shaking anymore. “King Sartenus, Lord Calemnar, Elanthine. They’re all going to chase me into that damn fortress. Elanthine strengthens two alliances and gets her hands on me.” 

“It’s a fantastic opportunity for Elanthine. She may involve more than just Rielle and Calemnar,” Kipling grunted. “Since we’ve cut our journey short, I won’t be able to tell you which families are disloyal to yours, but there are many. The populace isn’t unkind to you—supportive, even. But some powerful nobles despise your mother.” 

Tristan and Gamel stared at Kipling, and then each other. Solace hadn’t bothered to tell them Kipling was a spy, and she didn’t have time to now. She would leave that to Nisa. She gave her a nod, and she nodded back, understanding perfectly what she needed. 

“Elanthine, Calemnar, Rielle, and whichever families Elanthine can gather the support of,” Solace whispered. “Assuming we reach Fortress Neithock in time, can it withstand a siege of that size?”

Jasper nodded. “Not even an army the size of your mother’s could penetrate that fortress if you make the right choices. Fortress Neithock is among Keervan’s greatest assets.” 

That was good news, at least. Solace stood, ready to retreat back into the carriage. “Let’s depart right away, then. We don’t have time to waste. If Calemnar starts rallying his army now, he’ll have it fully assembled in three days. That gives us a three day lead.” 

Nisa grabbed Solace’s wrist. “Wait! Elanthine must have an army of her own. When will she arrive? We need to prepare for that.” 

Solace looked to Jasper, Kipling, Gamel, even. But it was Kormian with the answer. “We have no way to tell, but we’ll have time. Even if she hears about this at this exact moment and realizes how she can profit, she still has an ocean to cross. That’s three weeks at sea. My scouts have no information on the exact numbers of her army, but it’s about the same size as Calemnar’s.” 

“And if I remember correctly, your father’s army is thirty-thousand strong,” Solace said. “If both Calemnar and Elanthine have around fifty thousand, we’ll eventually be facing one-hundred-thirty-thousand in the siege. Shit.  _ Shit _ .” 

Kormian went to pat Solace’s back. She allowed him to, too disturbed to protest. “Yes, but you must relax, Solace. The entire world knows your mother has up to a million at her disposal. As soon as we get to the fortress—which we will—it’ll be a waiting game until she arrives to liberate us. We’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” Solace echoed. “Right, let’s go. I told Calemnar I would be going to Orsten with his son, but I think I’ll skip the courtesy of telling him plans have changed. Nisa’s right, we’re past the point of diplomacy.” 

“The third war in twenty-five years,” muttered Gamel. “All because—”

He stopped himself from finishing his sentence, but Ascelin’s name hung heavy in the air. The rage had been triggered when she saw him helpless, limply held up by Calemnar guards. Elanthine’s revolution hadn’t awoken it. Emmet’s kidnapping hadn’t awoken it. A  _ slave  _ had. 

“Nisa, send my mother a letter immediately and tell her… tell her everything. Leave no details out. She needs to bring her army to Niethock as quickly as possible.” 

“Right away, Your Highness.” 

Solace dismissed everyone but Jasper, but Kormian lingered after everyone was gone. “Can I sit with you in your carriage? It’s been four years, we have a lot to talk about. I can send my sisters away so we have privacy.”

“I have to speak with Jasper.” Luckily for her, she had an excuse on hand. Whatever conversation he was proposing was bound to dehisce old wounds, and now wasn’t the time for that. “Go back to your wife and your troops.” 

Kormian pressed his lips into a disappointed line and nodded, going to join his army and board his own carriage. His sisters followed, each of them giving her a salute as they left. 

She beckoned Jasper into her carriage. Ascelin moved aside to accommodate him. The carriage began lurching forward. Sixteen thousand people, fleeing to a fortress in the mountains. She shut the windows, unwilling or unable to process the truth outside. She had started a war. 

Solace slid her arm behind Ascelin’s back and held him close. Instantly, some semblance of calm returned. He was sweat-slick, bloody, and reeked of that foul ointment, but he was comfort.

He flinched as she touched new and old wounds. She leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, a subtle apology—not that she could get away with anything with Jasper watching her so intently. He had seen her kiss him. Everyone did. 

“I want to talk about the rage. I don’t know who else to ask,” she admitted. 

Jasper sat back and affixed a patient, fatherly expression on his face. If she was any less panicked, she might have thought it condescending. But the gesture was sweet to her. “What do you want to know?” 

“Why now?” she whispered. “Why at the most inconvenient time? The rage starts at fifteen. I waited six years, and it emerges to make me lose control and start… this.” 

She found herself wishing Ascelin wasn’t here to listen to this. They were strangers, as much as she hated to say it. They had known each other for less than a week. He didn’t even know what the rage was, he had no right to listen to this conversation. She barely knew what it was herself, and she was a Buliere. But she couldn’t send him to another carriage while she spoke to Jasper. She had left him for a few hours to eat with the Calemnars, and _this_ happened. She had thought herself insane for being so possessive of him right away, but he was something special, and special things were sought after and hurt. 

“I don’t know if I can answer that question,” he said. “But don’t start thinking some cosmic entity sent it to sabotage you and force you to cause a catastrophe.” 

Despite herself, she let out a laugh. “It does sound ridiculous when you put it like that. You know me too well.” 

“I raised you.” He made the motion of rocking a baby. “I’ve known you since you were this big. Let me tell you this, Solace, not as your commander but as your friend. I told your mother the same thing when we were younger and she didn’t kill me, so here’s to hoping you won’t either. Don’t spend too much time thinking about the gods.”

“Heresy,” she accused, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. In spite of everything, she felt a little bit of relief to be alone with two people she trusted, heading away from Castle Calemnar. Less than an hour ago, the word heresy had threatened to crush her. It was not so heavy now. 

“Heresy or not, don’t waste your life worrying about them. Don’t worry about when your rage arrives or why the universe chose the day and the hour it happens. It’s out of your control.” 

She raised her brows. 

“Yes, yes, I know. Your family doesn’t like being out of control, but there’s no point in wasting time trying to influence things you ultimately have no power over. And between the two of us—” He leaned in so that Ascelin couldn’t hear what he was about to say. “—we both know exactly why you got angry.” 

She looked over to her slave, innocently cocking his head at the two of them. “I repeat, you know me too well.” 

They sat in peaceful silence for a moment.  _ Don’t worry about the gods _ , not bad advice at all. She had always had her doubts, although if she told her mother that, she risked being disinherited. As far as she was concerned, the gods were simple stories. It was comforting to hear another person from her inner circle think the same thing, but she still had something else on her mind. 

She cleared her throat. “What would have happened if I didn’t get the rage?” 

Jasper wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Don’t believe in the bullshit they tell you, Your Highness. A Buliere is a Buliere regardless of strength or faith or rage.” 

“But ‘they’ are my mother and the monks.”

“Still not the gods,” he pointed out. 

She drummed her fingers on her thigh to ground herself and let out a breath. “Right. Okay. You’re right. I’m just a little bit shaken after it.” 

“It makes sense for you to be. Your mother never got through one of her episodes without killing someone. You handled it remarkably well.” 

She shuddered. She had never seen her mother actually angry before, only having heard legends from others about the war. Apparently, she had mellowed after the war was won and Solace was born a few years later. She had seen her execute prisoners and traitors cleanly and mercifully before, but to kill someone during a rage meant anything but clean and merciful. Would that be her someday? Would she become a danger to everyone around her? 

“It was awful,” she mumbled. “I heard all of them at once, and they were violent.” 

“Violence is your way of your family, Your Highness. Luckily, the rage is rare. I suspect it will be even rarer in you, since your first arrived so late. The rage will come when you need it. Have faith in your family.” 

Faith in her family. Not the gods that she doubted, her family.

She wished Emmet was here. He was always reading about their family history, always studying the legends and lore of Keervan. Jasper was wise, but he was no Buliere scholar. She missed her brother more than ever. 

Everything after that was a dull blur of formalities and goodbyes. Jasper stepped out of the carriage while they were still moving to board his own. They were at a slow pace, anyway, because of the size of their army. It did nothing to soothe her anxiety. 

As soon as he was gone, Solace patted her lap. Ascelin laid his head over her thighs, looking out of her. His face was cut and bruised, and she couldn’t help but run her fingers over his face, looking at each injury and cursing herself for letting someone hurt him.

“I’m never leaving you alone again. None of this would have happened if I was more careful about hiding you.”

She delicately poked at the bruise around his left eye. It would be black soon. Her hand went to his lip as well, inspecting it where it split. She knew exactly how painful these injuries were after years and years of combat training with Jasper. But worst of all, his stitches had burst. Kipling had dealt with it quickly earlier, but it made her uneasy. He was well on his way to healing, and now he was worse than before. 

“Please, don’t blame yourself, Mistress. You had a lot on your mind.” 

“You’re my responsibility, and now you’re hurt.” She threaded her fingers in his hair, twirling individual strands between her thumb and forefinger. His eyes slipped closed. 

“Not badly,” he assured. “Please, Mistress, don’t worry about me.” 

“Someone has to.” 

Ascelin’s face flushed red. He shuffled in her lap and let out a content hum, hiding his face in her belly and wrapping his arms around her waist. She suspected that he was hiding the furious blush on his face. 

A moment passed, then another. Finally, he said, “May I ask a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“What’s happening? With the Calemnars and the Jaarvans and your cousin? And what was that earlier, when you spoke in multiple voices?” 

She bit her lip, unsure of where to begin. “That’s more than one question.” 

“Sorry, Mistress,” he mumbled right away. “When you were yelling at the Calemnars, you didn’t look like yourself. You didn’t sound like yourself. What happened?” 

She faltered. How was she meant to explain this without sounding completely mad? “My family calls it the rage. Our ancestors speak to us at our times of most need to guide us. I guess I needed them when—” 

It was her turn to blush, but he didn’t seem to notice. “When what?” 

“When I saw you there, with Calemnar. Hurt, and… I didn’t know what to do to keep you from being hurt more. Then I started thinking about Elanthine and I lost control.” She took a deep breath. “The rage is a rite of passage starting from age fifteen, and that was my first, which is why I was so disturbed. I have silently wondered if I am not a true Buliere, and I suppose I don’t have to worry anymore.” 

Ascelin moved to stare up at her. She recognized the expression on his face. He thought she had gone mad.

“I understand how that sounds,” she sighed. “What were your other questions?” 

“The newcomers,” said Ascelin. “I can tell that they’re Jaarvan, but who are they?” 

“Kormian Rielle. He was my betrothed four years ago. He and his sisters have sought my help.” 

“Betrothed? I didn’t know that you were engaged.” He looked up at her, and if she didn’t know better, she would have thought he sounded hurt. 

She shrugged. “I don’t mention it often. There’s nothing left between us. We were about to be married, but his father allied himself with Elanthine when she rebelled against us, so the wedding was cancelled and my mother sent him home.” 

“So why does he need your help, Mistress?”

“Because history is about to repeat itself,” she said. “Elanthine is about to start a second revolution, and King Sartenus Rielle has sided with her again. Kormian left Jaarva when he heard about it. He hates her about as much as I do, I think. He ran from his father and crossed the sea to ask for my protection.” 

“Is that what you’re so worried about? Is that the war? You, harboring a prince?” 

She bit her lip, realizing again the weight of what she had started. “Part of it. I’m about to fight three wars. One with Calemnar for taking his son, one with Rielle for harboring his, and one with Elanthine for being the heir.” 

Ascelin no longer felt like an island of warmth and comfort in her lap. He was a barren stone, pinning her down as the carriage threatened to close in and crush her. It wasn’t his fault. She was stupid to think a man could distract her from what was to come. But still, she was sorely in need of a distraction. 

“So where are we going? I’m sorry to keep asking you so many questions, Mistress, but no one has been telling me anything.” 

“A fortress in the mountains,” she answered. “At least three armies will try to join forces to attack us. We’re fleeing directly into a trap, but only until my mother arrives to liberate us.” She reached around him and tugged a blanket from the storage compartment beneath the seat and billowed it over the two of them. She tried to swallow the molten dread in her voice, but she couldn’t hide it. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. I have yet to process it all. I started a fucking  _ war _ .” 

“Yes, Mistress. If it’s any comfort to you, I would have done the same in your position. But may I ask you one more question?” 

“I’ll allow it.” 

He took a deep breath before he continued. “Why did you kiss me in front of everyone?” 

_ Shit _ , she thought. “I… don’t know. I was so afraid for you when Calemnar threatened to hang you. All I could do was listen to instinct. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Mistress.” She couldn’t see his face, but his voice betrayed something. Something like longing. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

In retrospect, she realized that when she was discussing what had happened with her inner circle, all of them pointedly avoided the subject of Ascelin. “I made things more complicated than they were already.” 

What was going through his mind? She couldn’t help but wonder. There seemed to be so much he wanted to say, but didn’t. 

“Did it feel right?” he asked at last. 

She faltered, knowing her answer, but knowing it  _ shouldn’t  _ be her answer. “It did.” 

“Then it was complicated to begin with,” he said. “Why are you so kind to me?” 

“I thought you only wanted to ask one more question,” she teased. 

“Sorry, Mistress,” he said. “Please, entertain me. You should hate me. Why don’t you?”

“You’re a good man.” 

“I’m an Odite.”

“A just and moral Odite..” 

He nuzzled into her, and she wished she could see his face. She wished she could look beyond his face, into his mind and peel back each layer, to truly know this man. But she suspected she knew the principles upon which he was built already, as little as she knew about him. A kind man, a noble man, who many had tried to break but no one ever could. 

She wondered if she could. If she succumbed to her darkest Buliere instincts, could she reduce him to nothing and destroy all this unwavering selflessness? She didn’t think so. She was no Rosamel Galeth, and even she had failed in destroying him. She was Verity Buliere, but she was Evzen Callecher. The little grain of her father within her was strong, as overpowering as her mother’s blood could be. 

Elanthine had no Evzen Callecher in her blood. Her father was Kieran Buliere, sadist to the bone. Deeper than bone. She gripped Ascelin, knowing that Elanthine could. Elanthine could do what the Odium couldn’t, what Rosamel couldn’t, what Solace couldn’t bring herself to even try. She gripped Ascelin, and fear gripped her. 

“You smell like lilies.”

His voice was a comfort to her. She promised herself it would never come to this. She would never allow Elanthine to touch any of her people again, and let the fear slip away. “You recognize the scent?”

“Desert lilies, Mistress. My mother used to wear them in her hair when I was young.” 

Again it occurred to her how little she knew about him despite how familiar he seemed. “Tell me about your mother. You’ve never mentioned her.” 

“There isn’t much to tell, Mistress. She was possessed by quellec, same as thousands of others.” 

“Quellec?” 

“A drug, the roots of a sea flower ground into a powder and mixed into chocolate, usually,” he explained. “My father didn’t care much for me either. They allowed me to wander where I pleased, and one day I was taken and sold.”

She couldn’t imagine. She was raised by practically the entire palace. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I ended up okay.” 

“Slavery doesn’t exactly sound ‘okay.’” 

“No, I meant here. Here is okay.” 

She snorted. “We’re about to ride into a siege.” 

“I have a feeling I’ll be safe.” He finally turned and looked up at her again. “You’ve given me a second chance, Mistress.” 

“You’ve given yourself a second chance,” she said. “Between the Odium and the Galeth, you’ve earned it.” 

A burst of pain crossed his face, and she began to regret bringing the Galeth up. But then he smiled, a soft, tentative smile, and she was again at ease. “Yes, Mistress.” 

Instinct sang to her again, like the hum of a wet finger over the rim of a wine glass. It was not the rage, not blind fury and desperation. It was something quieter. Just as strong, but quieter. 

She was riding into a fortress to trap herself in the midst of a new war. But something felt right. Here, with only the two of them with no one but the absent gods to watch them. It felt right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where to pick up on the next chapter after this. I knew what chapter twelve would look like immediately after finishing chapter eleven, but thirteen is a complete mystery to me lmao. 
> 
> \--
> 
> TDLR: Calemnar is going to gather his army in 3 days and follow Solace because she has his son. King Sartenus wants to track down his son, Kormian, for defying him and running away, so his army is chasing him. They are also a few days away. Said army is blocking the path between Orsten (the capital of Keervan) and Castle Calemnar, so the gang is going to follow their original travel plans and go to Fortress Neithock. The Calemnar and Rielle armies are going to join at some point under Elanthine's lead because they all want the same thing, and Elanthine also has other families under her thumb that will later be revealed. Basically Solace is fucked, and she's going to hide in a cute little castle while armies surround her. Everything counts on whether or not mommy empress can come save the day. 
> 
> lmao I'm so sorry I mansplained you so hard, but someone might need/want this so it's here.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup! This chapter was supposed to be 30k words because I don't know when to stop writing. I've shaved it down to a more reasonable 12k. Next chapter is a motherfucking banger. You'll see why Kormian is my favorite child lmao. Another new character is in the making as of 6/15, and I cannot wait to show him to you.  
> Also as of 6/15, I'm happy to announce that I've cemented an ending and whoooooo boy. Hehehe. There will be three novel-length installments in Solace and Ascelin's story. You're going to be stuck with me for a while.   
> -  
> Here's a [map](https://ibb.co/k6BxWyK). You'll need it.

Solace’s mother had always placed a heavy emphasis on loyalty, so naturally, she made a point to befriend the most diplomatically useless people who would speak to her. Mira, slave to Elanthine Buliere. Nisa, the daughter of a palace housekeeper. Tristan, the youngest son of a minor lady. 

The Rielle siblings were her first important friends. 

Solace remembered how furious she had been when her mother told her she had found a match for her. Prince Kormian, heir to the Ninth Kingdom of Jaarva.

Her Grace had made special arrangements for them, considering they both heirs to large kingdoms. King Sartenus would rule until the children his son had with Solace were of age to rule. Then, one child would assume the crown of Keervan while the other led Jaarva. She had told her mother in no uncertain terms that those plans served better as kindling. 

Of course, she had been served the expected platitudes. Oh, he was a handsome prince. Oh, she would love his sisters. Oh, he was the one to sail across the ocean and live in her kingdom. She should be grateful for his sacrifice. 

She listened to none of them. Solace was no less resistant today as she had been then, at fourteen. She had locked herself in her room. The empress ordered her door removed. Solace had refused to eat. The empress ordered that she be fed by force. 

Her mother eventually dragged her to the ruins of the Temple of Orsten, and ordered her to swear to fulfill her duty to the crown and collar. Three-hundred-twenty-three years ago, Empress Kaltia had destroyed the sacred texts and religious histories, plunging the realm into the new age. The temple burned to that day, a testament to the remains of the faith. 

She had stood in the temple with her mother, her brother, her aunt, her cousin. Elanthine had only watched while the others appealed to her, a snide smirk on her face. Using the faith for something as preformative was wrong. It was one of the only things they agreed upon.

Solace had stepped down from the dais.

She could not make a promise on the burning altar, only holy symbol to survive Kaltia’s wrath. She had agreed to marry the prince, but not in the presence of the gods, not in the ruins of the faith, where a promise could never be reversed.

The prince had arrived on the shores of Orsten three years later, with his glittering smile and inviting eyes and hostile sisters. He had taken her into his arms before introductions could even be made. 

“Let me go, or I will slam you to the ground,” she had warned. 

She had looked at her guards, at her parents, at her brother. Would they really allow this stranger to crush her ribs? He had squeezed harder. “Oh, Solace of Keervan, would you really do me such an honor? Please.” 

She was out of his grasp in an instant, and he was under her in the next, belly to the docks. She had jabbed her knee between his shoulder blades. She had drawn his arms back sharply at the most painful angle she could manage. 

Solace had looked to her mother, expecting to be struck down, but she had looked impressed. Terribly annoyed, but impressed. 

He had yelped in surprise, then dissolved into laughter. Four spears were at her throat in seconds.

“Stand down, sisters. Not a scratch on my wife,” he had said. 

She had dug her knee harder into him. “I am not your wife.”

“I suppose you aren’t just yet.” He had beamed like the fucking sun while she pinned him to the planks beneath them. “Who taught you how to do that, Princess?”

She had allowed him to stand when the spears dropped. “My mother’s veterans are quite capable teachers.”

“Won’t you bring me to them? When you aren’t too busy, of course. I would like to learn how to arm myself against them.” He had gestured to his sisters. All of them had glowered back at him. “They’re quite cruel, you must understand. I’m utterly defenseless.”

He had looked about as strong as a newborn faun. Solace snorted. “I can tell.”

“Oh, forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. I am—”

Emmet had thought it funny to teach her Jaarvan curses and insults in the weeks leading up to his arrival. She had told him to be quiet quite crudely in his own tongue. That had been introduction enough to her stupid fucking prince.

  
  


Solace sat with the Rielle sisters, looking into the bonfire at the center of their half-circle. It was a rare moment of peace, the first since they had left Castle Calemnar.

The sisters had entrusted the prince to the care of other guards. Of course, they chose to pass that time with alcohol and insults, and they had dragged her along as well. She expected nothing else from them.

Ascelin slept at her feet, one blanket spread under him to protect him from the cold earth, another over him to absorb the warmth of the fire. Solace had insisted on bringing him, to the protests of Serana and Kiani, who wanted things as they used to be. Gentle-hearted Risande had welcomed him, including him in their conversations when she could. He had answered her questions quietly and kept his eyes to the ground. Asrea had only listened, half-interested at best. 

He had sat at her side for the first hour or so, clearly uneasy. The sisters had been as well, giving each other wry looks and exchanging occasional comments in Jaarvan. But now that he was asleep, they could discuss whatever they wanted. 

“What is he, anyway?” Serana gestured toward Ascelin, swiping stray hairs from her eyes. She had grown out her lush curls since Solace had seen her last. It suited her face better. She was a beautiful woman to begin with, and she had become more beautiful still.

“A man,” Solace answered dryly.

“A slave,” said Kiani, the youngest. “Solace, Solace, _Solace_... Whatever the hell are you doing with a captive man? Keervan is so proud of being a free nation. You are liberators, are you not?”

“He was a gift. It would have put unnecessary political strain on my family not to accept him,” she said.

“Political strain. Ha! You seem to enjoy this simple gift _very_ much.” Kiani grinned, baring her teeth like a desert wolf. The pale scar on her face glared on her dark skin. Her gold glass eye reflected the flames. “We saw you kiss him in front of Calemnar.”

Solace hid her face behind her cup and pretended to drink. 

“Is he your new whore?” Kiani pressed on. “Or worse, have you grown attached? Have you softened like your father and your brother? Oh, tell me you’ve not, please. That would be very much of an—” She took on a shrill Keervanian accent. “—inconvenience to the crown and collar.”

Bringing her family into this. There was no limit to Kiani’s audacity. Solace considered tearing her throat out and smiled to herself. Wouldn’t that be relaxing?

“Attached is a strong word,” said Serana, Kiani’s milder twin. “For her kind, anyway.”

The two of them looked at Solace. She gave them nothing more to taunt her with.

“So, do you enjoy the idea of ownership, Solace Buliere?” Kiani teased, drawing out each syllable of her family name. “That must be why you are so protective over him. He is a pet, and you are a dutiful owner, hm? Ha! Oh, this is incredible. This is the most entertaining you have ever been!”

“Be quiet,” Solace groused. “You talk more than Gamel does.”

Kiani continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “He is quite pretty, I will admit, but I didn’t think _this_ was your preference. I was under the impression you appreciated the weak ones, considering your, eh, ego.”

Implying that Kormian was weak. Implying she was a woman entirely driven by pride. Solace had not known Kiani was subtle enough to deal in implications. “Four years, and you still have yet to hold your tongue. I should have you executed.” 

For a moment, she expected them not to understand her humor. Everyone else had taken her far too seriously lately. Then, Kiani burst out into laughter. “Who allowed your pride to go unchecked, Solace?” 

“All of Keervan,” said Serana. “Narcissism is a positive attribute on this side of the sea, remember?”

Solace sighed and took off her cloak, billowing it over Ascelin to add another layer of protection against the night air. The sisters made a collective cooing sound. “Oh, be quiet. The four of you sound like a basket of pigeons.”

“I heard your slave fought off twelve Calemnar guards before they tied him up,” said Risande, the second oldest. “Quite impressive.”

“I wonder if he could best Kiani. Your friends told me he was an Odite arena fighter,” said Serana. “The dirtiest breed of warrior. Remember when father visited the Berserker and let us watch a match in the arena while we waited? They tore each other apart.”

“They did! They made a show out of it, too. Oh, Solace, I feel sorry for you. If you are ever able to walk into Filmorn without being cut down on the spot, you absolutely _must_ watch a match in the arena,” Kiani said. “And I won’t stand down to a challenge. When your pet is healed, let me try him. All the better if you faint like a northerner in the heat when I hit him.” 

Solace liked to believe she didn’t share the sadistic nature of her mother and her cousin, or at least, not to that extent. Bloodsports only served to disturb her. “If he wants to fight you, he will. I will not force him to perform like an arena puppet. He has had a lifetime of that.” 

“So I’ve heard,” murmured Risande. “Jasper told me a few things.”

Their eyes fell to her. A wordless interrogation. She would not answer their unspoken questions. “Things have been difficult for him, yes.” 

The five of them fell into an uneasy silence, listening to the fire and the crickets. A wolf cried out in the distance. It was an anguished howl, a death rattle. She knew the sound well.

Risande stretched out on her chair, looking from Solace to her sisters. Finally, she said, “Kormian missed you, you know.”

From one uncomfortable subject to another. The Rielle sisters kept Solace on her toes. She had grown tired of her Keervanian friends, who worked around her as if she was a delicate statue in the gardens of Orsten. Journeying across the empire without her parents, she had expected to be treated as less of a child. Instead, 

“Who the hell cares?” asked Kiani, tipping back a glass of Jaarvan ale. 

Serana snorted. “He certainly does.” 

Asrea signed something to her sisters. No one had ever told Solace why the oldest Rielle sister was missing her tongue. From the vicious rumors she had heard of King Sartenus, she assumed it was at his hands. She was glad not to know, though she wondered. She wondered if Kiani lost her eye the same day Asrea lost her tongue. 

“She says ‘he only cares about himself and you,’” translated Serana. 

She should have been surprised that after so long he still felt so deeply for her, but Kormian Rielle was an odd creature. Just as prideful and brazen as her, but tactful. She had seen him charm his way into almost anything, Solace’s favor being no exception. Her mother was the only one he couldn’t sway.

Solace accepted the glass of ale Risande offered her. She took a sip. “Sounds like—ack! Sounds like a miserable existence, then,” she choked out. She had forgotten just how differently the Jaarvans liked their drink.

“Too strong for you, Princess?” Kiani crooned. 

“The opposite. This is nothing but sour sewer water. You Jaarvans are weak.” 

“You consider anything short of alcoholism weakness,” said Serana. 

Solace finished her glass, grimacing as she gulped the ale down. “I spent the summer before you arrived with my uncle, Stelson. He sends the weak-livered to die. Here, let me introduce you to something else, none of your disgusting excuse for finery.”

Solace whispered something to her attending servant. The man returned with a glass of wine. The sisters emptied their glasses on the dirt and allowed him to fill them.

She held her glass up toward the flames. “To strong dynasties and swift wars.” 

“To longevity and health,” said Risande. 

“To glory and wealth,” said Serana. 

“To Kormian having his heart stamped out for the second time!” Kiani cheered. Serana gasped and elbowed her in the ribs, sloshing both of their drinks. 

The Rielles spat out their drinks as soon as they tasted them. Solace only lifted her brows from behind her glass and smirked. 

“What in the—“ Kiani spat out a slew of curses in her native tongue, “—is this? It’s awful. Asrea, come cut out my tongue before it shrivels up. Spare me that pain.”

They burst into laughter again. Even Risande, the kindest of the four, couldn’t help herself. Asrea produced a dagger from her belt and spun it in her hand. If Solace wasn’t as familiar with them as she was, she would have thought that was a threat. 

“Galeth wine,” said Solace. “Wonderful, is it not?” 

Kiani wrinkled her nose. “The Galeth drink this shit? And they make it deliberately?” 

“Galeth… Galeth…” Risande hummed. “Oh! The house your family employs to, well…”

“Torture,” said Kiani. “The torture family.”

Serana leaned back, face to the stars. “I will never understand why you Keervanians keep entire families as pets. Especially as torture pets.” 

“They are _useful_ torture pets. I will never understand why you Jaarvans split your country into eighteen pieces. That doesn’t sound nearly as practical.” She struggled to keep a smug grin from her face. “Now, drink it all. It would be rude to refuse me.” 

“Let it be rudeness, then.” Kiani emptied her drink into the fire. “You bloodspawn sadist.” 

Solace blinked. She did not know what bloodspawn meant.

“Let it be weakness,” corrected Serana. “What happened to not standing down to a challenge?” She clinked her glass with Asrea’s and Risande’s in a second toast. The three of them finished their wine and made faces at Kiani, gagging all the while. 

“That is no challenge, it’s cruelty. Fuck the Galeth!” declared Kiani. Asrea signed something. “She says she wants to drink something better.” 

“I suppose I can settle for another round of your weak Jaarvan bullshit,” said Solace.

The servant poured them another round, almost tripping over Ascelin. She caught the young man before he spilled a flagon on her slave and set him upright. He whispered his thanks, red in the face, and skittered off. Kiani whispered something to Serana. They snickered, staring at her.

She cleared her throat. “Enough about Kormian. Enough about the Galeth. Tell me about Eriadne Losika.”

Kiani smirked. “Of course you would like to hear about Kormian’s wife.” 

“I understand you are territorial, but trust me,” Serana said, “Eria is no threat to you. They are barely even friends. A political marriage.” 

“I don’t care who he’s married to,” Solace said. “I want to know how the hell your father managed to arrange a wedding between that stupid fucking prince and the Princess of Isuelt.”

“She does not hold as much importance as you seem to believe,” said Serana. “Fourth in line to the throne. Like I said, no threat to you. Not in any capacity.” 

“Politically irrelevant, yes, but she is beloved by the people of Isuelt, is she not?” asked Solace.

“Of course. She is terribly charming. There are songs written about her, and poems, and plays,” Risande said. “She is something of a celebrity on our side of the sea.”

“Charming.” Solace tested the word. “No, no. That doesn’t exactly fit. Charming is the center of the room, the focus of attention. She’s quieter than I expected. Most of the time, I hardly notice she’s there. She just… looks at me.” 

Risande bent forward to poke at the fire. She tossed another log into the pit the sisters had dug for it. The five of them watched the sparks fly up. “What did you expect?”

“Her name is a tribute to Oriadne. For a woman named after the Keervanian goddess of beauty? I expected more manipulation.” 

“You Bulieres are obsessed with power, but a Keervanian name does not make her one of you. She could bat her eyes and convince you to slit your own throat, but she never will. She is quite… lovable,” Kiani remarked. “I thought it was part of an act at first, but I am starting to worry that she is genuinely so meek.” 

Meek, persuasive, beautiful. An interesting combination that Solace loathed. “I can barely hold a conversation with her.” 

Kiani snickered. “Oh, Sollie.” Solace cringed. _Sollie?_ “Have you ever considered that she is terrified by you?” 

Terrified by her. No, she hadn’t considered that. 

“Don’t look so offended,” said Serana. “At times, you are quite—”

“—A bitch!” Kiani laughed. “A veritable Buliere bitch. If you gave me the choice between kissing you and shoving a scorpion up my ass—” 

“She means to say intimidating,” corrected Risande. “A compliment.” 

Solace stared at the twins as they struggled not to laugh. “Right. A compliment.” 

“Don’t listen to them. She doesn’t hate you. I hear she is preparing you a gift,” said Risande. 

A gift. With her luck, it would likely be another slave. 

The five of them spoke longer, but her mind was elsewhere. Famed and adored Eriadne of Isuelt, married to her first love. If her mother was here, she would know exactly how to twist the two of them to her benefit. 

This was an unmatched opportunity. Eriadne was loved by the people of her country and beyond. To have her at Solace’s side was to have an idol to control. Ninth-Kingdom Jaarvans and Keervanians had been friendly until four years ago, but they enjoyed no such camaraderie now. The tension between their troops was excruciatingly obvious. 

The world adored Isuelt—adored Eriadne most of all. Solace could use her as the joint at which the two armies connected.

Nisa approached the five of them. The sisters groaned. It was no secret that she didn’t hold the Rielles in high regard. 

Her lips curled into a sneer. “What?” 

“Here to ruin the fun, Nisa Pike?” Kiani asked.

Even after so many years, Nisa was still playing Solace’s warden. She hadn’t changed at all, and neither had the Rielles. Sometimes, Solace could even fool herself into thinking the past four years hadn’t happened. No revolution, Mira alive, Emmet at her side, Kormian wearing the collar of the consort. 

“It’s half past midnight, Your Highness. We leave camp at dawn. You’ll regret not sleeping,” said Nisa.

“Whatever do you think the carriages are for?” said Kiani. “Those awful Keervan monstrosities are perfect for napping. Stop spoiling our night and drink something!” 

“When are you going to dismiss Nisa and employ us as your advisors?” asked Serana. 

Solace bent down and tapped Ascelin on the shoulder to wake him. She smirked at the sisters. “Whenever Jaarvan law allows you to be more than glorified guards.” 

He stirred under her fingers. The firelight flickered in his eyes as he looked up at her.

“Come,” she said softly. “We ought to be sleeping soon.” 

She ignored the playful jeers of the sisters as they returned to their tent. Oh, how she had missed them. Time had not been merciful to her, but it hadn’t touched them at all. 

  
  


These nightly meetings were beginning to wear on Solace’s nerves. A gentle spring wind blew over the tent. She wished it was a tornado instead—to carry away this improvised war room.

“Our scouts report a storm ahead, in the mountains,” said Kormian’s commander, Aetes Akaryen. 

“Will it affect our travel?” asked Jasper.

“It should pass before we reach the mountains, but scouts are struggling, and the courier we sent to Fortress Neithock hasn’t returned yet,” said Commander Stagus. 

“We ought to send another,” Nisa suggested. “We can’t very well appear at the Hocke family’s doorstep with an army without warning. Thoughts, Your Highness?”

“Do whatever you please when it comes to couriers. I have no energy to spare on this drivel,” Solace said. “Listen, all of you. Elanthine is not a threat that we can afford to overlook. I have brought her up time and time again. All of you are disregarding just how vengeful she is. We are expecting her in weeks. We cannot waste that time.” 

“Your Highness, we have dealt with her presence on our side of the sea for the past four years,” said Commander Akaryen. “She has advantages in numbers, yes, but she will be easy to manage. There are more pressing issues at hand. The Calemnars and the Jaarvan loyalists will be here much sooner. Perhaps you are being paranoid—” 

“I am not paranoid!” she snapped. “She will destroy us if we make a mistake in our planning. Even the smallest misstep will condemn us.”

“Not paranoid,” Kormian mumbled. “Clearly not.”

“Her Highness is right to be concerned,” said Commander Stagus. She was a tall woman, blonde and purple-eyed. Solace had not known she existed until her farewell parade a couple of weeks ago. The empress had tasked her to command Solace’s six thousand troops. 

Stagus pointed at the map laid out on the table, sweeping her fingers over the bay under Orstenthe’s Hand, the peninsula the capitol was built upon. 

“We must appeal to the Galeth to stop her, Your Highness. They guard this bay,” explained Stagus. “The other shores are too turbulent this time of year to be worth the risk of stopping there. If Elanthine crosses the sea, she will most likely make contact here. Stelson will obey your orders. He knows his place.”

“He’s married to your aunt,” Nisa said. “Resistance is out of the question for him. If we are to stop Elanthine before she makes her way inland to trap us, we ought to begin with them.” 

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea, but I have no authority to give the Galeth orders unless it’s authority granted by my mother. Has word arrived from her yet?”

A courier burst through the flaps of the tent, hair messy and eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. He knelt at Solace’s feet and held up a letter. “From Her Grace, Your Highness.”

Solace thanked and dismissed the man. “Perfect timing,” she muttered. “I’ve sent her three letters in the past week and a half, and just now she has answered.” 

“Well?” said Nisa. “Read it.”

“Dated the fifteenth of February, 323. _To begin with, do not assume the spy at the Daledan Estate was one of Elanthine’s. It is unwise to point to her for every minor incident. That only alarms our allies and informs our enemies._ ” Solace sneered. “What the hell? My mother of all people should know better than to underestimate her.” 

“Keep going, Princess,” said Jasper. 

“ _Second, the Calemnars will be punished for going to war without my permission in time, and they will be punished severely. I am pleased to hear your rage has come after so many years._ ” The parchment shook in Solace’s hands as she read her mother’s untidy lettering. She refused to use scribes, diligent with her secrets as always. “ _But to trigger it for a slave is dangerous, irresponsible, and disgraceful. You know better._ ”

“Trigger it?” said Nisa. “I thought the rage couldn’t be controlled.”

“It can't. Not by Solace, anyway,” said Kipling. “Her Grace wants her to appear strong. She probably predicted Solace would read this in front of Jaarvans.”

“Stop interrupting her,” Jasper grunted. 

“ _Third, you made the right decision to shelter with the Hocke family at Fortress Neithock. If you had tried to return to Orsten, the Jaarvan army would have destroyed you. My forces have been battling a second wave of Jaarvans for the past few days. By my estimations, One hundred thousand of them are here and thirty thousand are after you. You were also right to agree to help Kormian Rielle, although an alliance of that nature is unsustainable. Use his troops wisely. Stay in place until the Jaarvans are dealt with, I will come to liberate you. Expect me in two months._ ” 

Solace set the letter down and cupped her hands over her mouth, taking a deep breath. She had expected her mother to grant her full war permissions, but that was the least of her worries now.

“She doesn’t sound angry,” remarked Kormian. 

Kipling shrugged. “Her Grace doesn’t often express anger through letters.”

Commander Akaryen glowered. “An unsustainable alliance?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to expect her to be pleased with an alliance between Solace and Kormian after what happened during the revolution,” Jasper said. 

“Quiet, all of you!” Solace barked. “Kormian, did you know your father would send a second army?” 

“No. I didn’t know we had a second army to begin with. I convinced ten thousand to desert with me, and my father’s thirty thousand was the rest of the Ninth Militia. There shouldn’t be any more, much less one hundred thousand.”

“Then where did they come from?” she demanded. 

“Mercenaries?” Kormian guessed. “Other Jaarvan kingdoms? It could be any number of possibilities.” 

“What I’m concerned about,” Stagus interjected, “is why she told us to expect her in two months. Your mother can easily summon half a million troops to Orsten. If she called for them, they would be there within days to destroy an army of one hundred thousand. This should be over in three weeks.”

Kipling frowned. “Yes, you’re right. Her Grace is a tactical genius. A Jaarvan army of that size is nothing to her, especially with half a million at her disposal.” 

“Weeks,” muttered Jasper. He glared at Kipling. “Is this another test by Her Grace?”

“Test?” asked Akaryen.

“He’s a spy,” Jasper said. “Her Grace sent him with the princess to gauge the loyalties of the noble families. Is this another trick of hers?”

“She wouldn’t put her only heir in danger,” Nisa said. “Right?” 

“Exactly. So why does she expect us to wait months?” Stagus snatched up the letter and read it again. “It doesn’t make sense. Not unless her army has shrunk recently.”

“You Keervanians have never made sense,” muttered Akaryen.

Solace listened, let them talk as if she wasn’t there. They spoke in circles for the next few minutes, attempting to dissect her mother’s words with little success. 

Something occurred to her. Something startling. “Have any of you noticed that these roads have looked odd this past day?”

Stagus’ face dawned with the same realization. “Yes, Your Highness.” She drew her finger along the road from Orsten, to Daledan’s Bend, to Calemnar Castle. “When we were on this course, there were no signs of a large group passing before us, but as soon as we passed this point—” She tapped the place where the road they had been travelling met the road leading from Orsten directly to Fortress Neithock. “—the road has looked different.” 

Jasper frowned. “I haven’t travelled this route since the last time Her Highness visited, ten years ago. It looks the way it did during Her Grace’s wars.”

Stagus pointed to a little village north of the mountains. “I was born here, I visit my family every year. The road has never looked like this—trampled, littered with all manner of things. The closest it has come to looking like this is every fall, when the harvest is bright from the north to Orsten en masse. The only explanation is an army. A large one.”

“An army. That’s exactly what I thought,” she said. “But my mother has authorized no army from any family to cross this pass.”

“Unless it is an army of her own. This road leads directly back to Orsten.” Stagus pieced together exactly what Solace feared. She was glad not to be the one to say it. 

“It would explain why Her Grace wants us to wait. She doesn’t have enough soldiers in the capital to repulse two hundred thousand Jaarvans because she sent a large portion of her army north,” said Jasper. “But there is nothing above Kurid Pass for her to secure. This is unlike her.”

“Khorv.” Nisa unrolled a continental map on top of the table, covering the national one. “There is nothing in the north of _Keervan_ of importance, but beyond our borders...”

“Fuck,” said Stagus. 

Relations between Khorv and Keervan were friendly, but shaky. It had grown stronger after a woman assumed the Keervanian throne, which had pleased their matriarchal queen, but it was no secret that the Keervanians kept them on a constrictive leash. Solace had always known that Khorv could only survive for so long. Her mother’s nature was war.

“Why would the empress invade Khorv?” Kormian asked.

“Bulieres do not keep vassals,” Stagus and Jasper said in unison.

“Their current queen is strong. I thought my mother would at least wait until her heir assumes the throne before trying to conquer it. Why now?”

“Jasper and I worked with your mother during her wars. Khorv will hardly be a challenge to her, considering her past conquests. She must have sent her commanders to occupy it,” Kipling said. “But yes, Princess, why now? Why, when she has sent her daughter across the empire?” 

Solace’s throat tightened. A thought crossed her mind. She crushed it before she could say it aloud. 

“Meeting adjourned. Send a letter to my mother. Tell her to rally the Galeth to block Elanthine, and ask whether or not she has sent an army north. Demand that she grant me war permissions.” 

“Your Highness, where are you going?” Nisa called after her.

She tugged her cloak on and pushed past the tent flaps. Ascelin was waiting on a tree stump outside. She grabbed his hand and tugged him up more roughly than she intended. 

“Mistress?” came his startled whine. 

She let go of his hand, flustered to have hurt him. “Come. I need to be alone. I need to think.” 

“If you need to be alone, why are you bringing me, Mistress?”

She loathed every possible answer to that question.

  
  


The same thought swirled in her head, night after night. Her mother’s invasion of Khorv too perfectly aligned with her tour of Keervan. _Why now? Why, when she has sent her daughter across the empire?_ Kipling’s words echoed in her ears. 

Solace knew why. She knew _exactly_ why both campaigns happened at once. But she couldn’t admit it, even in the privacy of her own mind. Her mother wouldn’t take a measure as reckless as that, wouldn’t risk something as awful as—

“Please, don’t touch me,” a small voice said beside her.

Her slave did not sleep well. He was plagued with nightmares as often as she had been after Emmet’s kidnapping, after Mira’s murder. They were fewer in number now, but no less powerful.

She laid awake most nights, thinking about the war and listening to his whimpering. He alternated between curling up on a corner of the bed, as far away from her as he could manage, or clinging to her side so tightly that she feared for her circulation. Tonight was the latter.

“Don’t touch me!” he cried, still asleep.

“You are the one about to crush me to death,” she mumbled. She wiped the sweat from his face. He didn’t flinch away as she expected. “You’re such an odd thing.”

He nudged her shoulder with his face. She moved her neck to allow him more comfort. 

“Mercy,” he whimpered. “Lady Egrea, please! Mercy.”

Lady Egrea, a woman who frequented his dreams. Solace wondered who she was, but she didn’t have the heart to ask. There were others. Kalene, who he seemed affectionate with. Carver, someone he feared. And Rosamel. Always Rosamel. Solace wanted to gut her like a fish and display her entrails on Orsten’s city walls, a Buliere tradition which had fallen out of practice in the past century.

“Hnnng, please hold me.” He grappled at her, clutched her to his chest like a stuffed dog and curled his body around her. “Just hold me. I’m sorry.”

“I would, but I can’t—agh, stop that! I can’t move my arms,” she complained. “And I can’t breathe.”

“Stay. Please stay.” He tightened his hold and wrapped his legs around hers. She swore she felt one of her ribs snap.

“I—I’m not leaving.” She felt ridiculous, reassuring a sleeping man. “How could I leave when you’re—”

A woman sang from outside the tent, singing dissonant notes, a Keervanian funeral march.

Solace snapped upright and forced Ascelin off of her with great force, ignoring his confused whine as he reached out for her and found nothing but a pillow.

Her slave would have to wait. She recognized that voice. 

She stumbled out of the tent, almost charging into the fire in her panic. She lurched back, expecting to feel a tent post behind her. There was nothing there but open air to catch her. The tent was gone. Ascelin, gone. 

She didn’t care. All else was long forgotten as soon as Solace heard her voice. 

Another burst of flame sent her careening to the floor. She knew these mosaic walls, knew the elaborate paintings on the columns and the crystal dome ceiling. The Temple of Orsten. 

The woman’s figure emerged from the flames to stand over her, a glinting dagger in her hands. Blood dripped from the blade, each drop sizzling on the hot tiles. Solace held her hand over her brow, squinting against the light. The woman was oddly unfamiliar for someone she knew so well. Her Buliere-black hair, her legendary green-grey eyes, they were silver.

Her body went cold despite the inferno surrounding her. She had never forgotten one of Jasper’s stories, and this one in particular had always unsettled her.

Thousands of years ago, one of the three founding sisters of House Buliere murdered another. The gods punished her by her with the seal of the damned, the silver. It was nothing but a story now. The last death of a Buliere at the hands of another was three hundred twenty three years ago, the assassination of Empress Kaltia by her brother. 

If one of them killed another, the colors of their family was taken from them, replaced with condemnation. To take the silver was to relinquish any right to the throne. She thought it was only a myth. She thought most of the stories salvaged from the burning were. 

“Elanthine,” Solace gasped out. “Which one of us did you kill?”

She wiped her hands on her elaborate blue gown and stepped closer, spinning the blade between her fingers. 

“It isn’t an issue of who, little cousin. All of you will die. It’s an issue of when.”

“Who?” She surged to her feet.

Elanthine laughed. “It will be you next.”

“Tell me!” Solace roared. “Which one of us did you murder?”

“I told you, IT WILL BE ALL OF YOU!” 

Elanthine shoved her palms into Solace’s face and pushed her through the flames. It was not a natural strength, nor was it the power of the rage. It was something she had never seen before. She threw Solace with enough force to send her flying like a lark through the wind.

She slammed into the far wall, landing in front of the altar. 

The impact was worse than Jasper slamming her to the ground, worse than diving into the sea from the palace cliffs. The air in her lungs became smoke. The blood in her veins became lead. A moment passed before she regained her senses. She wished that she hadn’t. 

She cried out in pain, in _fury_ , as she struggled to stand, as the flesh of her legs charred and fell from her bones. The altar was the focal point of the fire, and when she threw her hand out to shield her face from the flames, her fingers turned to ash and fell to the floor. 

Her scream was trapped in her throat like bubbles beneath ice, as if her lips had melted together.

“I told you, it isn’t a question of who.” Elanthine followed her through the flames, unscathed. “All of you will die.”

Solace tried to speak, but she choked on her tongue, which cracked open like the ground in a drought. Her remaining hand flew to her stomach as she retched in front of the altar. 

“Do you remember when your traitor mother dragged every remaining member of our family here all those years ago?” Elanthine bent down to meet her eyes, hands on her knees. She leered as Solace heaved for air through the smoke. “Such a dramatic display for an issue as trivial as marriage. She is a failure to the faith.”

Solace weakly shook her head. 

“You didn’t make a promise that day, but I did. I was not such a coward that I 

“Our gods…” she managed, “despise you.”

“Oh, my darling little Solace. The favor of the gods is not for you to decide. Despise me or not, the gods will remember me. I promised to kill every traitor to _my_ crown, to my love’s collar, on this altar.” 

She shut her eyes and scrambled back into the fire as Elanthine pressed closer with a blade to Solace’s throat. The flames bit at her skin—the fire of gods betrayed. Her flesh crumbled to ash.

“I take the silver gladly.” Elanthine dug the blade across Solace’s skin, splitting her throat open. It was pointless. She was dead as soon as she had touched the flames. “And when I am done with you, you will have taken the silver as well.” 

She began to hum quietly for her as she bled out and burned. Another funeral march. 

  
  


She had stopped trembling hours ago, but she could not forget the dream. Elanthine’s once-green eyes, a soulless grey. Her once black hair, a surreal silver. Solace could not escape that image, could not escape the captivating murmur of her voice. 

So many had called for Elanthine’s execution after she was defeated, Nisa being the loudest voice of them all. The empress had spared her life, and Solace had defended that decision simply because she was her daughter, even if it was a betrayal to her best friend, a betrayal to herself, to Emmet, to Mira.

Mira. Solace had forgotten her face, only remembering her copper hair and yellow-grey eyes. How terribly unfair it was, to be unable to remember her oldest friend’s face and unable to escape a traitor’s.

She wondered if her mother allowed Elanthine to live not out of righteousness, but out of fear of an ancient myth, out of fear for her right to the throne. Was the silver as real as the rage? She would never know, not unless she killed one of her own or waited for Elanthine to do it herself. She could not allow for either. 

A few minutes after daybreak, Solace had decided to stop staring at the top of the tent and get out of bed. Ascelin had snapped awake as soon as she was out of his grasp, a bleary haze in his confused eyes. He let go quickly, whispering his apologies for touching her. 

Ascelin seemed unaware of just how clingy he was in his sleep. He hadn't seemed to notice her nightmares either, too entangled in his own.

Did she… dream of him dreaming?

She loosely tied her hair back with a ribbon. She was a travesty to her own image, but it wasn’t as if anyone other than Ascelin was there to see her.

“Okay, I’m finished.”

Her slave turned back around. He had insisted that he didn’t look at her while she dressed. A flowy silk-and-lace gown with wide sleeves, a gift from her aunt, Edelya, in her favorite shade of Keervan green. It was a sensible piece of clothing, perfect for the carriage. 

She squinted at him in the candlelight. “Are you growing a beard?”

“No?”

She crouched down to cup his face. “Then what’s this?” 

“I stopped shaving a few days ago, when I realized I didn’t have your permission,” he said sheepishly. 

“I think I prefer you clean-shaven.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “I have a razor in my bag. I can get it now if you want me to.” 

She nodded, and he slid off the mattress to find it. She eyed him in his nightclothes. When the war was over and they returned to the palace, she would burn the clothing Rosamel sent him with and replace them with every luxury money could buy. Jaarvan silks and Khorvan wool and Tarcarian perfumes, every extravagance she could give him. But for now, she couldn’t help but admire how lovely he looked in Rosamel’s selections. 

He lathered his face and picked up a razor. An idea crossed her mind. 

“Here, let me,” Solace decided, simply looking for an excuse to touch him. She lit a scattering of candles and took the razor from him. “Sit on the mattress.” 

He obeyed, swallowing as the razor made contact with his face. She worked quickly, ignoring the image of her own throat, slit in the Temple of Orsten. Elanthine’s promise. Her grey eyes. Solace was going to be sick. 

Maybe she ought to put the razor down, but she steadied her hands, determined not to.

“Must you look at me like I’m about to cut you?”

“Sorry, Mistress,” he said quickly. 

She worked delicately. “I wanted to be a hairdresser when I was much younger. I made friends with one in the palace, and my parents humored me. They let me learn. I practiced all sorts of styles on Nisa and Mira. But of course, becoming one was not an option for me. I realized that in due time. We all have a duty to the realm, and that was not mine.” 

“I am certain you would have been an excellent hairdresser, Mistress.” 

She hummed. “I suppose we will never know.” 

She patted his face dry with a stray towel and ran her fingers over his face, lingering her touch on each injury. His blackened eye, his scattered cuts.

“I’m okay,” he promised quietly. 

“I should have been more careful with you.” 

He grabbed her wrists, as gently as he could. Her hands were so small compared to his, her body so delicate, though he knew she was anything but. “You protected me as well as you could, Mistress. It was inevitable that they found me.”

“I am afraid for you,” she said. “You may be in more danger here than in Calemnas. The Jaarvans hate your kind.” 

“I know.” He closed his fingers around her wrists tighter, relieved when she didn’t pull away. “But you don’t need to worry for me. How many guards are surrounding this tent?” 

“Ten of my elite.” 

“Ten of your elite, and I’m worth at least five of your best guards. Don’t worry yourself to death over me.” 

Her laugh was as hollow as the windchimes Ascelin had once hung on his balcony in the Odium. “You are at least double that, my Lion of Filmorn.”

She helped him button up his shirt and tossed him his coat. She noticed his attentive stare. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, Mistress. It’s only…” His cheeks flushed red. “It’s only that I think you spoil me.” 

“What kind of owner would I be if I didn’t? Come, let’s eat.”

On the first day after departing from Calemnas, she had brought Ascelin to dinner with her, fearing all that could happen if she left him alone. He had retreated into his shell immediately, the perfect slave, the docile Odite. His eyes had darted from one soldier to the next, expecting someone to strike him despite being surrounded by a dozen guards, despite being a force of nature in his own right. She had tapped him on the shoulder to draw his attention, causing him to flinch violently enough to spill boiling tea across his chest.

Their meals were brought to their tent from then on. They quietly ate what was delivered to them. Bread, eggs, and some pork. It was no palace feast, but they were about to walk into a siege and they had no food to waste.

He folded his napkin neatly and absentmindedly played with it. “Mistress, I have an idea.”

“Hm?”

“Cillian must be lonely. Do you think I should introduce him to Wren? With your permission, of course.”

“Wren… Wren… Oh, the boy from the river. Sounds like a lovely gesture, Ascelin. When we stop tonight, I’ll arrange for it.” Solace finished her breakfast and began gathering her things. Her servants had initially insisted on packing for her, but her head had been messy during the days past, and a flurry of people to wait on her did nothing to clear her mind. “It’s no wonder he’s lonely. I tore that boy from his home.” 

“But Mistress—” 

“No need to reassure me,” she said. “I harbor no regrets. Did you know I was about to buy his contract before he was offered as a gift? Twenty thousand Keervanian crowns.”

He let out a breath. “That’s a fortune.” 

“Fortune means nothing to me. My grandfather didn’t dismantle the slave trade so that children could be held in chains forty years later.” 

Solace realized the hypocrisy of everything she said. From the moment she accepted a slave as a gift, she had become a contradiction to a core Buliere value. And less than a week ago, she had accepted another. Not some political prisoner, a boy. A _child_.

“And you are worth far, far more than twenty thousand crowns,” she added, to shift her mind away from a truth she didn’t want to address.

“I was sold for ten silver to my first owner,” he said. “And when I bought my freedom from the mercenary masters, I wasn’t even worth one gold.”

She was unfamiliar with the currency of the Odite. Keervanian crowns were accepted everywhere in the world but the Odium. From what she remembered from the commerce council meetings she attended in the palace, gold was extraordinarily valuable. Keervanian crowns were forged from iron instead of precious metals. They reserved their gold to jewelry and other luxuries. 

“How old were you when you were first sold?”

“Eleven.”

“Eleven…” she said. “How old is Cillian?”

“Twelve, Mistress.”

 _We are no better than the Odium_. But to say that would be treason, and Solace was treasonous enough as it was. 

“Calemnas is a threat to the soul of the realm. My grandfather was too merciful to let them keep indentured servants.” 

Here she was, a fraud denouncing slavery. How much longer could she use politics as an excuse to keep him? How much longer until she was forced to choose between her family name and the favor of the Galeth? 

Fuck. 

“You look troubled, Mistress. Maybe you should sleep sooner.” 

“It doesn’t make a difference if I rest more. I have been having unpleasant dreams.” 

“Unpleasant dreams, Mistress?”

Elanthine’s silver eyes, her derisive sneer. Her own body, nothing but ash on the temple floor. The blade, dripping with the blood of her family, used to rend her throat. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, so frigidly, so distantly. 

It alarmed Ascelin, how easily his mistress shuttered herself away. She fluctuated between pleasantly warm and terrifyingly cold, often without warning. 

He kept quiet. He knew better than to push her by now. He had tried to ask her why she had stormed out of a meeting the day before, and she had unequivocally dismissed his questions.

He tried to help her gather her things, but she waved him away on account of his wounds. 

He wasn’t accustomed to being coddled. Her overprotective nature was puzzling, and not only to him. Laying at her feet by the fire, he had heard the questions from the sisters when they thought he was asleep. She had evaded answering them masterfully.

The four of them avoided him. They stared and whispered when they thought he wasn’t watching. They behaved differently outside of his mistress’ presence. Cold, condescending. Threatening, even to someone of his stature. Jaarvan sentinels were renowned for their prowess. He doubted he could compete with even one of them. Four was out of the question.

He struggled to tell them apart, which only bothered him more. Two of them were twins, but he could distinguish which was which by the golden eye and jagged scar one of them wore like medals. Another sister was mute. Aside from that, they might as well have been quadruplets. The same bronze skin and night-black hair. The same rich brown eyes. 

As his mistress led him into their carriage, he caught a glimpse of the siblings as they boarded their own, surrounding their brother as always. Jaarvan tradition was always odd to him, with an absurd emphasis on the younger siblings supporting the oldest. If his memory could be trusted, the ninth state of Jaarva produced luxury goods. They were one of the most iron-set in their traditions. 

His mistress sat silently at his side, staring at the sunrise and chewing her lip.

“What’s on your mind, Mistress?” He found himself asking that often as of late. 

“My cousin.” 

“Rosamel? Elanthine?” 

She winced when he brought up Elanthine. “No. Tuyon.”

His eyes widened. “Is something wrong with him? Has something happened?” 

“No, no, of course not. I miss him, that’s all. Why are you so concerned? Did you meet Tuyon while you were Rosamel’s captive?”

“Only a few times, Mistress,” he said. “He is a lovely child, and I worry for him. Rosamel hates him.” 

“Of course she does. She was Stelson’s heir before he was born. Anyone is more fit to lead the Galeth than that bitch, especially someone of my blood.”

He flinched. He should be used to hearing insults about her by now, considering that everyone his mistress surrounded himself with despised her. 

“I heard she’s quite bitter about Tuyon taking her place,” she said. 

More than bitter. Rosamel had spent hours screaming at Ascelin in his cell, blinded by hate, undone by jealousy. He leaned his head on his mistress’ shoulder. “Yes, she is,” he whispered. 

She sighed. “Enough about her. She destroys everything she comes in contact with.” 

Did she expect a response? Would his mistress push him to decry her again? His throat began to close on itself, his chest constricted. She slid her hand over his, squeezing softly, almost a wordless apology for mentioning her name. An _apology_. What was wrong with him? He belonged to her. He deserved nothing from her. None of this… pity.

Gently, as gently as if he was a delicate desert flower she was coaxing to bloom, she continued. “You were a mercenary, weren’t you?” 

“Not voluntarily, Mistress.” 

He could see her sour expression by the light of the rising sun. “You are familiar with war, then.” 

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Have you been in a siege before?” 

He nodded. “Only once. When the Calemnars and the Galeth invaded the Odium, they trapped the Berserker and his councilmen in the Stronghold of Filmorn.” 

“Elanthine was close to sieging us when I was seventeen, but I’ve never actually experienced one. War as a whole is foreign to me. I… I’m nervous,” his mistress admitted. “And I can only hide it for so long.” 

“Your mother will be there to liberate you within weeks, won’t she? All you need to do is wait. When we were trapped in a siege, we had nothing to wait or hope for.” He offered her a smile. “There is nothing to be nervous about, Mistress.”

“There is always something to be nervous about.” 

His mistress looked out through the carriage window at the camp around them. Despite the early hour, they were theto wake. The army had been ready to leave for at least half an hour. She reached out to draw the curtains closed as the sun rose higher. He had noticed how she began shutting the daylight away after they left Castle Calemnar. She only uncovered the window when she was certain it was after dark. He had wanted to ask why for days. 

“I can’t help but think the Jaarvan soldiers are looking at you,” she explained, as if she knew each thought he had. “You Odite aren’t very friendly to your neighbors. They despise you as much as the Calemnars. They will hurt you just as badly.” 

She was being irrational, and he wanted badly to tell her as such. He reminded himself that it wasn’t his place. As kind as his mistress was, she wouldn’t appreciate being called unreasonable. 

“You ought not worry so much for me.” He searched for her by touch in the almost-dark. “They barely scratched me.”

“They sent in guards to tie you up like an animal and drag you in front of the gates. Your eye is still black. Your face is still bruised.” Her voice wavered. “They wanted to see you hanged. They did much worse than scratch you. So much worse.” 

He at last found her, fingertips on her face. “That is nothing to me, Mistress.” 

“It isn’t nothing to me.”

She had said the same thing about a week ago, after she forgave him for slandering her mother. She had likely forgotten by now, but Ascelin hadn’t. 

He couldn’t see her vivid hazel eyes, but he suspected that if he could, he would find burning conviction within them, the kind of conviction only someone who had never been told ‘no’ could have. 

“You have so much to think about. Don’t waste your energy on me.” 

She placed her hand over his, pressed his palm against her cheek. “Energy spent on you is not energy wasted.” 

His breath caught in his throat. She had told him she would keep his distance because he was a slave. How could she keep a distance when she spoke like this? Ascelin had never been particularly charming, but he recognized it in others. His mistress had the tongue of a Jaarvan trader and the beauty of a Madithian maiden. She could be toying with him, coaxing him into believing he was safe, only to devour him later. 

“I only ask that you entertain my fears. Let me keep you safe,” she said. “For my own peace of mind. This, at least, is something I can control.”

“Yes, Mistress.” 

If Solace Buliere’s affection was a trap, it was a lovely trap indeed. 

  
  


Solace sought out Jasper when they stopped that night. She threw open her commander’s carriage door without warning and climbed in, Ascelin at her heels like a puppy. 

“What do you know about the silver?” she demanded.

He looked up from his book. “Pardon, Your Highness?”

“The silver I would take if I were to, say, rip Elanthine apart by each limb and make her army watch her bleed out. What do you know about it?” 

She knew no one better than Jasper to answer her questions. He had studied every remaining scrap of the faith.

“I… Your Highness, why are you asking? Do you intend to—”

“No! What do you take me for? I had a nightmare,” she said. “About the silver, is it real?”

“No Buliere has killed another since Kaltia. No one knows.” He shifted in his seat. Had Solace not known better, she would have thought he was nervous. “Princess, your dreams are not prophetic. You are no conduit.”

There had not been a conduit between the Bulieres and the gods since Kaltia’s betrayal of the faith. Their kind had been abandoned for turning their backs on the creators.

“I keep dreaming about her,” she said. “Elanthine. The nightmares stopped for a while, but ever since I left Castle Calemnar, I…” 

“Is it as severe as before, Your Highness?” 

The nightmares from before. Mira’s face, eyes torn out of their sockets, scalp shredded and bloody. Elanthine’s laugh, ringing in the palace as Solace darted through the halls like a wounded rabbit. Emmet’s body, unrecognizable to her, torn and scarred and burned by the Odite. 

“Your Highness?”

“No,” she said slowly, ignoring Ascelin’s eyes on her, searching for whatever was distressing her. “They are different as of late.”

“Different?”

“Ever since the rage, I…” She sighed and took Ascelin by the hand to leave. “I’m sorry, Jasper. I shouldn’t have come to bother you with questions no one is able to answer.” 

“I am the one who is sorry, Your Highness. But, princess,” Jasper called after her. Solace turned to look at him. “Remember, don’t place so much weight on things you can never know. Like the gods, like the rage, like the silver. It will only cause you undue trouble.”

“I will keep that in consideration, Commander.” 

By the time they returned to their carriage, their tent had already been made for them. Tristan waited inside, pacing from one canvas wall to the other. 

“Took you long enough, Your Great Imperial Highness,” he grumbled. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Solace.

He held out a letter to her. “From your aunt. Nisa sent me instead of a courier because you’re irritable with them.”

“I am not _irritable_ with them. They are only servants, how could they possibly offend me?”

“Those were Nisa’s words, not my own.”

Solace found a letter opener in her bags and cut the envelope open. She stopped to admire the seal. She adored the floral pattern of Edelya’s wax stamps. It wasn’t the stately crown of her mother’s seal, the collar of her father’s, the twisting cobra of the Calemnar’s, the lynx of the Galeth, nor the scorpion of the Velatet’s. Her aunt made a design of her own. 

She unfolded the letter and waved him away. “You’re dismissed. Oh, and send for Cillian and that boy Ascelin rescued from the river.” 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Because the boy needs a peer.” She sat on the mattress and patted the spot at her side. Her slave followed. “And because Ascelin asked for them.”

“You’re giving your slave whatever he wants now?” he demanded. 

“I am.” She draped an arm over her slave’s shoulders. “Do you have an issue with that, Tristan?” 

“You fucking know I do, Solace,” he hissed. “He’s an Odite. You keep him in your tent, you let him sleep in your bed, you feed him our finest food. You are pampering a western mongrel!” 

“You are very lucky I consider you a dear friend.” She knew very well that Tristan was harmless. Stubborn and arrogant, of course, but harmless. “Now leave.”

“You will see my point someday, Solace.” Tristan turned on his heel and left, muttering insults under his breath. 

“I apologize for his behavior,” she said to Ascelin. “He is wholly loyal to me, which is why he is so unsettled by you.”

She began to read Edelya’s letter. Starting from the day Solace’s aunt learned her mother was pregnant, she had written a letter to her every two weeks. She had done the same for those who came before her, though they did not live to enjoy them. Her aunt had been the one to teach her how to read, long before her mother had hired her pupils. 

It was the same as always, news about Tuyon, stories from Galeth Keep, questions for Solace concerning her life. She folded it away and slid it back into the envelope. 

“See that box in the corner? The big one by our bags. Get it for me.” 

Ascelin handled it delicately. It was an ebony case inlaid with ivory flowers. It held every last letter she had ever received from Edelya. A few more, and it would be full. Solace looked forward to choosing a new one to store the next two decades of letters. 

She began to pen her response. Cillian and Wren arrived in the meantime. She gave Ascelin a small nod. Permission. He went to entertain them. 

Cillian clung to her slave’s leg, his distrust for anyone other than Ascelin apparent. She watched them absentmindedly, glad there was something to occupy his time. For a warrior, he was remarkably gentle. At times, she forgot he was a soldier and a slave at all. He was so… happy, so natural with children, that she felt a surge of guilt for not finding something he enjoyed sooner.

Wren was staring up at her. 

“Yes?” she asked. 

Ascelin simpered as if she was overlooking something obvious. “You’re a princess, Mistress. You make him nervous.”

“Oh.” The last commoner she had befriended was Nisa, years and years ago. Her mother kept her sequestered away in the palace. 

Eriadne poked her head through the flaps of their tent. “Solace, a word?”

“Yes, come in, Eria.” She forced her lips into a smile and beckoned her forth. So Eriadne had been serious about calling each other their first names. Fuck. Isueltians were odd. Not even Nisa used her name. “Don’t mind the children. My Ascelin likes to herd them.”

The princess of Isuelt laughed delicately, as innocuous as a dandelion swaying in the wind. “Isn’t that charming?” She pinched Wren’s cheek. “What is your name?”

“Wren!” answered the boy. “And this is Cillian.”

Eria bowed to the boys. “I am pleased to meet you, Wren and Cillian.”

“She is a princess as well,” whispered Ascelin to Wren. “Eriadne of Isuelt.”

The Rielle sisters marched in after her. No Kormian, Solace noted. What were they doing, guarding not their brother, but his wife?”

“And they are also princesses,” he said. “The Rielle sisters of Jaarva.”

Wren’s eyes widened until Solace feared that they would simply roll out of their sockets. She patted Ascelin’s cheek, gently for the sake of his wounds. “I will be only a little ways outside. Call for me if you need me.”

“I doubt the children will attack me, Mistress.”

She ruffled his hair as she stood and pushed apart the tent flaps. “Come, all of you. What is it you want to talk about so late in the day? And where is Kormian?”

“My apologies.” The princess smiled, her yellow eyes glimmering with innocence and tenderness. For Eriadne’s own sake, Solace hoped it was an act. There was no place in this realm for innocence, no place for tenderness. “This was my first opportunity to see you. You are so busy with war preparations, I didn’t want to disturb you. Kormian is asleep, so I called upon his sisters to escort me to you. I didn’t know where to find you, you see.”

The princess of Isuelt hooked her arm around Solace’s and pulled her forward. She made an effort not to seem surprised. Isueltians were so warm with one another. This stranger was more affectionate with her than her mother was. 

Eria was supposedly terrified of her, according to the Rielles. She didn’t seem terrified so much she did fervent, like a giddy child about to meet her idol.

Solace could not strike this woman down if she overstepped her bounds. There were no bounds for her. She was her equal. 

Diplomatically, anyway. To compare Keervan to Isuelt would be an insult. It had fallen far from the powerful colony that repulsed Keervanian rule a thousand years ago. It was nothing but a glorified port now.

“I have a gift for you, Solace. Something I think you will appreciate.”

Her name, from a stranger’s mouth. A stranger who was the darling of Isuelt, yes, but it chafed at her nerves regardless. She looked at Kiani, who winked at her. Well, blinked, considering she had only one working eye. It only exasperated her further. 

“A gift?”

“You must understand, I have been fascinated by Keervan for a long time. Your empire is interesting.” Eria steered them toward the Jaarvan caravans. “When Kormian told me we were deserting Jaarva for Keervan, I only brought a few things with me. My dear friend, Syeka, was a historian. She gathered important papers from around my continent and kingdom for me.”

Papers. Papers as a gift. Solace pursed her lips. 

“Isuelt was a colony of Keervan before an empress a thousand years past liberated us. We follow your faith to this day.” Eria reached into her carriage and produced a book. It was as tall as a wagon wheel and half as wide, thick as her forearm. “Syeka has compiled this for me. The most comprehensive history of Keervan from the eyes of the western kingdoms. ”

Solace took it, ran her knuckles over the spine, thumbed through the pages. Hundreds of thin, strong sheets, bound by the finest leather she had seen. It was heavy, so terribly heavy with the knowledge of centuries, of millenia. 

“Where is this Syeka? She must be an incredible woman.” She flipped to a page at random. It was an illustration of a Keervan ruler. Marlena the Reformer, empress of a time long before the purge of Kaltia. Had Solace heard her voice among thousands in the rage? Had she seen her in the tower of her dreams? 

“At her age, she wouldn’t have survived the sea. I had to leave her behind.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Another page, another portrait. She recognized this face. “My great-grandmother, Teludia Buliere.”

“Teludia the Patroness!” Eria chimed. “Lover of the arts, sponsor of the poor. She was the best of them.”

“Yes,” she agreed. 

Teludia had died before Solace was born, but she knew her well. She had met her many times in her dreams. 

She found her grandfather’s face next. “Saonsen the Warmonger.”

“Conqueror of the east,” said Eria ardently. “Brutal in ways brutal has never been recorded before.”

Yes, that was a fair description of her grandfather. But from the mouth of someone who did not share his blood? It was almost an insult. She ground her teeth together and shot a glare at Kiani, who suppressed a laugh. Of course she found this funny. Anything that discomforted Solace was amusing to her.

“I have not heard that you are such a scholar of my family, Eria.” 

“I am flattered you consider me that, but I am no historian. Syeka was. Her death delayed your gift. I finished it just this morning.” 

She turned a page. Her uncle, Kieran. Her aunt, Edelya. And of course, her mother, Verity. Another page turn, and she was staring into Elanthine’s eyes. 

_Burn it. Burn her_. 

It was not the rage speaking to her, not the collective voice of her ancestors that she would someday join. Her own voice. Her own instincts. But she could not destroy this. It was precious to her, to her family. A relic of an era past. 

She flipped to the next page. Her own eyes, her own face. She recognized this specific piece, the work of an artist from Teludia’s age, an old man three years ago, when it was drawn. A dead man now. His original portrait of her hung in the palace, depicting her as a god. It was copied onto these pages. How many people had put their minds to this? How many writers, how many artists? Hundreds, thousands, all of them copied into this book.

Solace Buliere, drawn on the back of Elanthine’s image. She despised it. She adored it. This was the most valuable gift she had ever received. 

Emmet. Her brother’s face, grinning up at her. Oh, why had she ever been bothered by the princess? Why, when she had given her something so priceless? She felt so terribly guilty now. 

“Eriadne of Isuelt, you marvelous woman. This is amazing,” she murmured. “You have done my family a great service. We lost so much three centuries ago. I never considered that our stories could be recounted from your kingdom’s perspective.”

“Solace of Keervan, it is the least I owe you as a descendant of your colony.” She knelt at her feet. This princess, this equal of hers, humbling herself. “Many of us have forgotten the greatness of your blood on the west side of the sea. I have not. I only wish we could have given you this sooner, but my family hasn’t been interested in the histories. I was the first to care.”

It was no wonder that this woman was so deeply adored. This yellow-eyed beauty of a woman, this humble servant of a princess. The wife of her first love. She pulled her to her feet, the book clutched to her chest. She no longer felt the weight of it.

Was the silver explained in this Isueltian history of her empire? Was the rage? Was the… the infatuation? The infatuation that caused her mother to love her father the moment she saw him. Was it there? Did the Isueltians remember what the Keervians had lost?

“This is the most treasured gift anyone has ever given me,” Solace said.

Someone cried out in her tent. 

She slammed the book closed. Eriadne had led her too far. Solace had wandered too far from her Ascelin. She shoved her gift into Asrea’s hands and ran. The sisters followed. 

Solace’s tent and Eriadne’s carriage were hardly fifty paces apart. She barrelled back through the canvas flaps, nearly colliding into Ascelin. 

“Are you hurt?” she demanded. “What happened?”

Cillian was sitting on her slave’s shoulders. Wren was in his arms. He looked up at her, a light in his eyes—a light she had not sought out or even bothered to notice before.

“I thought I—” It occurred to her that she sounded like a frenzied hen. “I heard a scream.” 

“It was a laugh!” Kiani burst out in a guffaw. “A laugh, you insane woman. The man was laughing! Oh, you have gone mad, Sollie. Utterly mad.”

He set the children on the ground gently and went to kneel at her feet. The Rielle sisters muttered among themselves, but Eria only watched, sunset-yellow eyes caught on her slave. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Mistress.” He closed his fists around the hem of her skirt. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have made so much noise.”

Blood rushed to Solace’s face. The way she looked, the way she sounded. She was a fool. A controlling maniac of a fool.

She regained composure and dismissed the sisters and Eriadne. Asrea left the book on Solace’s bed and led the children out, giving her a look of pity. Solace wished Eriadne a subdued goodnight, thanking her yet again.

Ascelin had yet to rise from his knees. She bent down to kiss his hair, knowing she was wrong to, but too weary to stop herself. Who would judge her for abandoning her principles? They were alone. 

Maybe she _had_ gone mad. Kiani was rarely wrong. Aside from Nisa, she was the one who knew Solace best. She ripped the ribbon from her hair and sighed into her hand, watching the strip of silk flutter to the ground. 

“You look overwrought, Mistress,” Ascelin said.

“It’s nothing.” She picked up the book again and leafed through the pages of her ancestors. “I have been through a tumult these past few days. War planning and such.”

“Maybe you ought to rest,” he suggested.

She traced the portrait of her aunt. “I will when I’ve returned to the palace.”

“I meant that you should sleep.” He went to sit on the mattress, patting the place by his side. He nodded to the book. “What is that, anyway?”

“A compendium of Keervanian history and legends by the west,” she replied. “A gift from Princess Eriadne. The best I have ever received.”

“Mistress, I was a gift,” he huffed. 

Her lips quirked up. “Yes, I remember.”

He laid down and drew the blankets over himself, covering everything but his face. “Mistress, come sleep, please.”

A section documenting the rage caught her attention. “Just a few moments more.”

Stories of her family, stories of their wrath and their fortitude. They were made out to be gods in the history of the west. She found a journal entry written by a Madithian king. He had angered a visiting Buliere and paid with every life in his city. Then, an Isueltian traveler’s chronicle of a war between two Buliere brothers. In their final confrontation, they had both gone into the rage. Neither of them had survived to claim the realm. Dozens of accounts across thousands of years. Just how often had her family wreaked their fury upon this world?

Solace read on, burning through one candle and lighting the next. Her eyes had become sore after the first hour, but only when Ascelin began to mewl and writhe in his sleep did she set the book down. 

She exchanged her green gown for a blue chemise and pulled back the blankets, joining him. He swiped at her, edging closer until his chest was flush with hers. Solace let out a breath. So it would be one of those nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many side characters are in Solace's merry band at this point? Nisa, Jasper, Tristan, Gamel, Kipling, Asrea, Risande, Serana, Kiani, Kormian, and Eriadne. I am so sorry for all of you.  
> -  
> I can't wait for Elanthine to Season 8 Episode 5 everything Solace loves (wink wink nudge nudge)  
> -  
> I counted the number of sappy conversations Solace and Ascelin have had. It's up to like 9 or 10 at this point.


	14. Chapter 14

Grassy knolls flew past as Smoke trampled over the hills. The yellow-green forests of Daledan’s bend and Castle Calemnar had faded in favor of a pale turquoise sea of long plants Solace didn’t care to identify. If Emmet had been there alongside her, he could have pointed each one out, called them by their names, told her of their purposes. But he wasn’t, and after two weeks trapped in a carriage, she was far more occupied by the spring air in her lungs and the wind rippling through her hair.

She had hesitated for days, too concerned by Ascelin’s restitched wounds to even consider taking him for a ride on Smoke. He, of course, had insisted that she go without him. He was horrified by the idea of keeping her from enjoying herself, it seemed. What a ridiculous idea. He was an Odite, surrounded by Keervanians and Jaarvans. Each time she tried to distance herself from him, her instinct demanded that she turn back. Not with the same volume of the Buliere rage, but with the same urgency. She wondered if her progenitors had named this as well, this protective mania.

Finally, she had arrived at a compromise between her itch to ride and her rabid anxiety. She sat him on a horse of his own and ordered him to ride slowly while she galloped in erratic orbits around him, pushing Smoke’s limits all the while never taking her eyes off Ascelin.

They were a ways away from the army, travelling ahead at their own pace toward the mountain pass that sheltered Fortress Neithock. For once, there were no guards surrounding her. The people who had witnessed Ascelin altercation with the dozen Calemnars had sworn to his strength. She didn’t need guards so long as she had him. At least, that was the excuse she used to be alone with him.

They would be forced to return to the carriages before they arrived, to exchange their riding clothes for formal wear—although she suspected that the Hockes wouldn’t give it any thought if she appeared at their doorstep dressed as a pig farmer, complete with the mud.

The Hocke clan were the guard dogs of Kurid Pass. The Hocke family was as loyal and warm to her as the Daledans, although she was less frequent to visit them. The manner of her dress would mean nothing to them, but the army of sixteen thousand may be a cause for concern, however. She wondered how she was meant to explain what was happening. The Hockes had been expecting her for a brief overnight stay before sending her across the pass. The courier she had sent to the fortress had yet to return. The storm her scouts had spotted higher in the mountains a few days past must have trapped him in the fortress. At least, she hoped he had reached the fortress. 

The snowy peaks ahead loomed closer. She had caught sight of them a few days ago and had immediately felt at ease. The Calemnars were in pursuit, with the Rielle army only days behind, just as they had predicted. They had yet to join forces, according to her scouts, but when they inevitably did, the mountains would mean safety for Solace. Fortress Neithock stood on a pass between Calemnas and the cities to the north. The road from Kurid Pass eventually led to their northern neighbors, the queendom of Khorv and the empire of Tarcaria. 

She finished a lap around Ascelin and returned to join him. They rode side-by-side.

“What’s on your mind, Mistress?”

He asked that often, more often than anyone ever had. She found it sweet. Maybe her silence troubled him. “Too much.”

Solace ached for her home, for her childhood. She missed watching the passing ships in Harflan bay from her bedroom balcony. She missed afternoons in the garden with her father. She missed afternoons in the gardens with her father. She missed overnight excursions to Daledan’s Bend, where they would gorge themselves on all the sweets their mother had forbidden them from eating. She missed sitting on the roof with Emmet long after their mother had ordered them to bed, counting and naming the stars. When they were younger, they gave the constellations they found names of their own imagination, not knowing that most of them had already been given names and histories by those who came before them.

She even missed council sessions with her mother. The council of war, the council of tax, the council of commerce, the council of foreign affairs, and another dozen she couldn’t remember. There was probably a council of feather-down pillows. Her mother had forced her to participate with the hope that she would learn to control her impulses.

How Solace  _ wished _ now that she could have controlled not her impulses, but her rage. But not even her mother could resist the pull of their ancestors’ fury.

She tore her eyes from the mountains and her mind from the downward spiral she had thrown it into. She looked at Ascelin instead, a distraction she found ceaselessly effective.

“You’re healing. Good.”

He brought his hand to his face and probed his bruised cheekbone, his black eye, his split lip. Again, she felt a jolt of guilt. All of this could have been prevented if she had found a better way to hide him from the Calemnars. 

“I am, Mistress.”

At some point in the past two weeks, their conversations had fallen into a gentle, simple pattern. No conflict, no resistance. She was trained to be intoxicatingly charming if need be, and Ascelin was nothing short of a doll of a man. Still, she was surprised they had connected so quickly.

She had been severely smitten with Kormian within three months of meeting him. They were seventeen then. There had been men before him, there had been men after. But nothing had ever happened this quickly—not in a handful of days. It could only mean one thing, from what she had read in Eriadne’s book.

No. No! She could not compare Ascelin to her lovers, or to the stories of her ancestors. Ethics, judgement, politics,  _ everything _ aside, she could not afford to lose focus. Not when she was steering the empire into war.

So many truths loomed before her, begging to be confronted. For once, she felt quite non-confrontational, quite unmoved by begging.

“It’s time to go back,” she decided. 

They rode at a slow pace until they reached everyone else. Her friends spoke among themselves, on horses of their own. They, too, were exhausted of cramped carriages. She stopped the two of them from approaching any farther, preferring to keep out of earshot.

Solace surveyed the group. Her complete retinue, along with the Rielle siblings and Eriadne.

Eriadne, oh, Eriadne. The future queen of a Jaarvan kingdom, the darling of Isuelt. She was so genuine, so harmless. Solace couldn’t help but be drawn to her as the sisters were. Such earnest compassion was rare, especially among those of their standing. They had spent several evenings together, discussing the customs and histories of Keervan while Ascelin reminded them on an hourly basis to rest in anticipation of another long day of travel, until he himself was too spent to do anything but listen to their easeful conversations and surrender to his own exhaustion.

The princess of Isuelt was charming and gentle and beautiful, but Solace could smell her heartbreak from here. Like a bitter smoke carried for miles in the air, she could  _ taste _ it. She wondered if Eriadne had been forced to leave behind a lover to marry Kormian. She wondered if she had seen friends die as Solace had. She wondered if she had been shut away from the affection of her mother as Solace had been. The princess appeared to be so sad when she thought there was no one to watch her, but she was never free of Tristan lingering gazes or Nisa’s curious stare.

“Solace!” Kormian was upon her immediately, breaking from the others to join her. His sisters followed dutifully, keeping a respectful distance. “There you are, Your Most Gracious and Eminent Highness!”

Solace winced. That was worse than Sollie. The Rielles were never short of awful names to irritate her with, it seemed.

“Nisa recommended  _ very _ respectfully that you go speak to your prisoner. It’s been almost two weeks, and you’ve done everything but that.”

He had a point. She had given speeches to their armies and arranged nightly meetings and made appearances to her kitchen and cleaning staff for the sake of morale and watched over Ascelin playing with the children and pouring over Eriadne’s book and—

It was a dizzy mix of busy and blind. Solace was pointedly ignoring two conversations, one with Kormian and one with Warroste.

“I will not bring Ascelin in that Calemnar boy’s carriage.” 

“Then don’t,” said Kormian. “Look at him! He could crush that urchin with one hand. Let him be alone for a few moments.”

“No.”

“Why not?” he shot back. 

“A matter of common sense,” she said. “I will  _ not  _ let Ascelin near that fucking Calemnar after he ordered his guards to beat him and tie him up like an animal.” 

Jasper joined them, having been lingering at a close distance to listen. Solace had not bothered to stop him.

“Common sense would be to leave him with me while you speak to your hostage, Princess,” he said. “The less he hates you, the easier things will be for you in the future. I’ll watch your boy while you’re gone, or you can bring him with you and trust him to hold his own against a teenager.”

He was perfectly right, and she would not admit it. “Not yet. When we arrive at Fortress Neithock, secure him in a cell and restrain him. Better yet, toss him in the kennels. I will speak to him when there are iron bars separating us instead of sheer faith.”

“Or you could go now,” said Kormian. “If you’re so concerned for your slave, leave him with your guards. Leave him with mine, too, if that would put you at ease. Not only my sisters, my inner and outer guard as well. Just… stop being so paranoid, Sol.” 

“Your guards are Jaarvans. They despise what he is.” 

“Despise him or not, they are loyal to me. They won’t touch him. No one will.” Kormian nodded to the rest of their group. “They’re worried for you. Leave your slave be for a few minutes and ease their fears. Some of us think you’ve lost your mind.” 

Jasper put his hand on Kormian’s shoulder. “Enough, Prince Kormian. She won’t be convinced today. Come, let’s go before you provoke her.” 

He shook the commander off. “Go without me. I need a moment with her.”

“Fair enough,” Jasper said as he rode away, giving the Rielle sisters a warm nod as he passed. 

“What is it?” asked Solace. 

“If we could please have a minute alone—”

“No.” 

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Kormian exploded. “What is this newfound obsession with an Odite slave? Send him off for one minute, Sol,  _ one! _ I am only asking for a word with you. No gods will strike him dead in that time.”

“Do not bring the gods into this, and do  _ not  _ give me orders,” Solace snapped. “You are not my superior.” 

“And clearly I will never be. I don’t want to be your superior! But do you even consider me your equal?” The prince had the audacity to look hurt. 

“You haven’t been my equal since your father betrayed us. You are a foreigner in my land, under the protection of my name. So what if I fucked you when I was seventeen? That grants you no special status.” The words felt wrong on her tongue, crude and cruel. She couldn’t be this reckless with him. He was her ally, her friend. 

“You did a lot more than fuck me, Sol.” He stared at the ground, unable to meet her eyes. “I mattered to you. You gave a damn about my wellbeing. And then you let your mother cast me away, and you did nothing to stop her. I sent you hundreds of letters, and you ignored every last one of them. And now that I am here, you refuse to even speak to me. You owe me this. I brought you an army.” 

His face went slightly pink. He had not paused to breathe. 

“I owe you nothing,” she said. 

“Yes, you do. Send your slave away and give me a moment alone, for the glory of the gods! Why must you be so difficult?” 

Again, she was reminded of the staggering differences between them. She was delusional to once think that they were a suitable match. Invoking the gods was heresy in Keervan, and nothing but a simple expression in Jaarva. The betrayal of the parent meant the betrayal of the child in Keervan, and it meant nothing in Jaarva.

Ascelin shifted on the saddle, visibly uneasy. “Please, Mistress. I’ll go with Jasper. I promise I’ll be slow, I won’t disturb my wounds. It’s just horseback riding.”

“Listen to your little doll, if you will listen to no equal of yours,” hissed Kormian.

“Do not call him a doll,” Solace hissed. She looked from the slave to the prince, considering.

“Please, Mistress,” Ascelin said again. He made a face at her, something that looked like begging. Solace loathed that all it took to convince her was her slave making eyes at her.

“I trust Jasper with my life.” She nodded to Kormian. “I have the same trust in your sisters. If I speak to you, will you tell them to protect Ascelin?”

Kormian let out a soft laugh. “You tell them. They love you more. No one can help but love you more.” 

If his voice wasn’t so bitter, she would have hit him in the face for flirting under circumstances like these. She sent Ascelin on his way and watched as Asrea, Risande, Serana, and Kiani surrounded him. Asrea gave her a nod, a promise, and kept him in her sight. They didn’t look pleased about it, but they didn’t dispute her. With the exception of Kiani, of course, who immediately began cooing over him.

Truth be told, she was more distraught to see Kormian’s sisters leave than Kormian himself all those years ago. She had lost four friends and her fiance at once. In another life, they would have been her sisters-in-law. In another life, he wouldn’t be married to the Princess of Isuelt, but to her. 

“What do you want to discuss so badly?” 

Now that he had her attention, he looked unsure of himself. “What happened in the rebellion. My father—”

She gripped Smoke’s reins and turned to leave. “If you have been looking for an excuse to talk about that for a week, you have wasted your time.” 

“I have been looking for an excuse to talk about  _ anything  _ with you for four years!” His voice broke as he shouted to her back. She stopped. She had never heard him like this before. He was always confident, always charming, always beloved by everyone around him. “Four years. Has it ever occurred to you that I am not able to cut my heart out like it’s a disease? That skill is exclusive to your family.”

“Don’t,” whispered Solace.

“You punished me for being my father’s son. You abandoned me. And I still— I still—” He choked on the next words and skipped them entirely. There was no point. They both knew what he was about to say. “I thought I would never see you again. Less than a year ago, I heard that you and your brother were touring the world, visiting royal families. I was so— I was so  _ happy _ . I thought I would see you again. But you didn’t come to my kingdom. Of course you didn’t. I was stupid to think you would.” 

“Kormian…”

“You hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you,” she said. “Of course I don’t.”

“Right,” he grumbled. “You hate my father, you’ve told me that. But you ignore  _ me _ , you avoid  _ me _ . Do I really disgust you so much?”

“Do you really expect things between us to be as they used to, Kormian? After everything that has happened? You cannot speak to me like we will ever be anything more than allies. You have a wife! A fucking  _ wife _ , a lovely one! What is wrong with you?”

“A wife who I feel nothing for,” he retorted. “Can you say the same about your little Odite pet?”

Oh, this stupid fucking prince. This  _ infuriating _ fucking prince. “Get off your horse.”

He eyed her with suspicion, but obeyed. She dismounted Smoke and stood across from him, both of them up to their waists in grass.

She struck the prince across his face.

Kiani’s cheer caught her attention. She gave Solace a thumbs-up from a distance. If it had been anyone other than Solace who had just hit her brother, she would have sent an arrow through her heart.

Kormian rubbed his cheek and flashed her a winning grin. “I admit, I deserved that, Your Highness.”

“Yes you did,  _ Your Highness _ .”

“You know, Sol, that almost tempts me to say it again.”

She laughed in disbelief. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“And you’ve changed completely,” he said.

She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away. “You left. So did Tristan. Elanthine killed Mira. My brother was kidnapped. I received a slave. How can you expect me to be the same woman I was four years ago? Not even a woman. I was a child then.”

His smile dissolved, and there was that pain on his face again. Not pain for himself, but for her. He stepped forward, swept her up in his arms until her toes lifted from the ground. It shouldn’t have taken her by surprise. This was Kormian Rielle. He asked permission for nothing, apologized only when he was forced to. She had let herself grow used to the timid and unobtrusive nature of her slave.

“I wish I was there to see it, Sol.”

_ I wish you were there too _ , said some small part of her, a part of her that she could only suppress for so long. She was hiding so many things from herself, denying so many things. Maybe she should allow herself this simple truth.

Against his chest, she mumbled, “You are with me now.”

“Then let me be close to you again,” he pleaded. Kormian,  _ pleading _ . She did not know him to beg unless they were in bed together. “And I know. Before you tell me, I know I am asking too much of you.” 

“Yes, you are,” she said. 

“Then give me too much.” he tightened his hold on her. “I know I am a fool, I am difficult to handle, I test your patience. But give me more than I will ever deserve, simply because I ask you for it, and I will give the same to you. I will give you more than I should, you greedy, stubborn, arrogant woman.” 

Only him. Only this man had the nerve to say that. Her lips twitched as she swallowed back a laugh. “Do you want me to hit you again?”

“If you must. Hit me as much as you would like.”

She untangled his arms from her, struck him again. Harder this time, she put four years of frustration and a decade of Jasper’s training into her swing. He gasped and staggered back, falling on his ass into the field. He stood, both hands on his cheek. 

They met each other’s eyes and burst into laughter. 

“You stupid fucking prince. You shouldn’t have given me that invitation!” she wheezed. “Did you really expect me not to take it?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Actually, no, you are quite violent. But yes, I expected you not to hit  _ me _ .” 

The Rielle sisters stared at her, utterly perplexed. She had missed them more than she cared to admit, and maybe she had missed him as well. This charming, overwhelming man. Just maybe. She stopped herself to think for a moment. How silly they must look, hugging one another one minute, attacking each other the next. She only laughed harder. 

She looked up. She saw the way he was looking at her.  _ Don’t do it, you bastard. Don’t do it _ . 

“I missed your laugh.” 

_ Fuck _ . 

“So will you? Will you stop keeping me at a distance?”

She drew in a breath. He hid his anxiety well, but not from her. She took her time pretending to think, savoring the look on his face. “I suppose so.” 

And there it was. The bright and childish eagerness only this particular prince could make flattering. 

“But it will never be as it was before. You and I both know that. I am offering you friendship, nothing more.” 

She expected that eagerness to be crushed, but it remained on his face, buzzing in his body. “I know, Sol, I know.” 

Again, he took her in his arms as if she was light as paper. 

“I will never love you again, and you cannot love me,” she said into his shoulder. “Not here, not now, not ever.” 

“You are a fool if you think you can stop me from loving you if four years of silence could not. I will always love you, even if you despise me.” 

She shook her head hopelessly. Stupid fucking prince. “Then I feel sorry for you.” 

He let her go and they mounted their horses. “I am glad to have your pity, if you will give me nothing else.”

  
  


The Jaarvan prince said his mistress’ name in a strange way. Solace. So ‘Sol” should be pronounced ‘sal,’ like salt. He called her Soul.

He did many things in strange ways. He looked at her strangely. He laughed with her strangely. He told her strange stories. And she seemed to enjoy all of it. Despite her attempts to hide it, she seemed glad to be in his company after the conversation they’d had a few days prior. The prince amused his mistress. The pit of Ascelin’s stomach twisted each time her face split into a wide smile when she saw him.

He could see the fortress ahead as they approached on their horses. It was larger than he expected, larger than Castle Calemnar. It guarded a pass between two mountains, blocking all of it with tall stone walls. Nisa had told him it was called Kurid Pass. 

The Odite spoke a variation of Keervanian, as did most of the world, but Ascelin still remembered fragments of his mother tongue, the language of his commune. He had been very young when the Odite invaded their settlement, too young to remember it. He and his parents had survived. They fled to Filmorn, where they hoped to disappear in the noise of the capitol. They suffered the same fate most refugees that came to the city did—mass produced quellec—and left him to starve. 

When Ascelin told Nisa that  _ kurid  _ meant peace in his mother tongue, she had laughed and told him that she doubted they would know peace in the coming months.

He swallowed as he took it in. It looked like it was built for long-extinct giants. From this distance, he could see that it was structured like nesting dolls, with each ring higher than the last. Though Kurid pass was a dip between mountains, Fortress Neithock rose up to become the high ground itself. It was maybe a third of the palace of Orsten, half of the stronghold of Filmorn. It was certainly the tallest fortress he’d ever seen.

The snow blanketing the ground amazed him still. It dusted the mountains, hiding the roots and the holes where his horse might catch her hooves and injure herself. Keervanian horses were sturdier than Odite breeds, but he was worried for his mare, who he named Snicker, after her strange-sounding whinny.

They had marched through a light flurry of snowflakes earlier in the day. It was a thin storm, and it reminded him of the storm the Galeth ship passed through on the voyage home from the Odium.

He had stopped fearing for his horse very quickly. The snow was trampled down, as firm as any paved path. A much larger group had passed before them, and they had passed recently. 

Tristan leaned toward his mistress and said, “The Hockes don’t give a damn about what you’re wearing, Sol. Their dogs will eat you, beautiful or not.” 

She  _ was  _ beautiful. Ascelin couldn’t deny it, especially when she dressed like this. Black leather pants, laced up at the front. Boots that rose up to her knees. Her blouse was a vivid red, neckline high up her throat. Gloves seemed to be popular in Keervan, but he hadn’t seen her wear a pair until now. How long her fingers looked in black lace, how delicate her wrists seemed. His favorite was the Khorvan cloak. It was made of thick fur, almost as long and wide as a bedspread. She had the hood pulled over her head, hiding her neatly plaited hair. 

“You looked wonderful as well, Daledan.” His mistress returned Tristan’s sarcastic smile. She drew the cloak up and bunched it around herself to keep her horse from tripping on it. Smoke must have cost her father a small fortune.

“I can’t wait to see those dogs,” he said. 

“What dogs?” asked Ascelin. 

Tristan made a face and looked away from him. Ascelin shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. He was about to apologize when Nisa nodded ahead to Fortress Neithock. “The Hocke family breeds legendary Hocke Hounds. They are as tall as you, Ascelin.” 

“On their hind legs?” 

She shook her head. “As tall as you, paw to shoulder.” 

His mouth hung open. Maybe the fortress was built for giants after all. He looked to his mistress, who chuckled. She looked at him with a warm patience, like a teacher looking at a child. “Nisa isn’t lying, Ascelin. They are the biggest dogs east of the sea.” 

“I’m fairly certain there aren’t dogs of that size west of the sea, either,” said Ascelin. 

Tristan scoffed. “Your side of the sea has barely mastered anything other than violence. I wouldn’t expect you to handle anything bigger than a standard lapdog. No offense, Prince Kormian.” 

The prince shrugged. “We do not deal in dogs.” 

“Now, Tristan. You’re quite mouthy for a guard,” Solace said. She considered sending him to ride with the rest of the guards. “The west of the sea isn’t only the Odium. Wrawen is just as civilized as Keervan. Madith, as well.” 

Kormian faked a scowl. “You do not consider Jaarva to be as civilized as Keervan, Sol?”

“Should I?” she asked. “Jaarva is being slowly eaten by the Odium.”

“Not the Ninth Kingdom! We are resilient.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. The Ninth Kingdom of Jaarva is as civilized as Keervan. Are you placated, Your Highness?”

“More civilized,” he insisted, holding back a laugh.

She grinned. Oh, this stupid fucking prince. “You ought not test my patience. I’ll order Kipling to sew your mouth shut.”

The doctor grimaced. “I will do no such thing.”

They rode on, drawing nearer to the fortress. She searched for evidence that her mother’s army had crossed the pass. Aside from the suspiciously worn roads, there was nothing to be found. She considered asking the Hocke family, but she suspected their mother had sworn them to secrecy. 

Their conversations were so light, so unbothered. She could almost forget the army only a few days behind them. Within ten minutes, they were at the gates. The wall towered above her, impossibly tall, yet still the shortest of the five rings. 

She imagined shooting an arrow through Elanthine’s chest from the top of that wall. Or maybe she would order Nisa to do it. Her aim was better than Solace’s.

Lady Hocke was an old woman the last time she had visited the palace, ten years ago, and Solace guessed that she was senile by now. Sure enough, as the gates opened, it was not the lady of the fortress there to greet the princess, but her eldest son, Rohart. He was never particularly close to her, but she felt waves of relief as she passed the walls and entered the outer ring of Fortress Neithock. The rest of her retinue fell into a single-file line, with Ascelin immediately at her back. He was dressed as an attendant, but there was no point in hiding what he was. Half the empire knew by now. 

Rohart's face was set into a dead and formal smile. “Your Highness.” He took her hand in his and helped her off Smoke. They were dressed almost identically, cloak and gloves included. A nice touch her maids had suggested. “Welcome to Fortress Neithock.” 

“Rohart Hocke. Oh, I’ve never been more happy to see you.” Solace watched the stablemistress take Smoke away, into the next ring. She thought briefly to stop the woman, but her father’s gifted horse had no place in the innermost ring of Fortress Neithock, where she assumed she would be brought. 

“I’m sorry that my mother isn’t here to welcome you,” Hocke said. “She has fallen ill.” 

“Is it serious?” 

“Yes, Your Highness, which is why she wants to see you immediately. She awaits you in the innermost ring,” Hocke said. “She was bitten by one of our hounds, and the wound is infected.”

A Hocke hound, biting one of its masters? They were the most well-trained beasts in the empire. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. 

“Thank you, Your Highness. Follow me. We will take care of your horses and your army, and your staff will be assigned rooms in the inner ring.”

“And my prisoner?” 

“I will ask someone to take him to a cell.”

He walked her through toward the fourth wall, over the moat, without bothering to wait for her retinue. Solace didn’t give them much mind either, only turning her head once or twice to assure herself that Ascelin was still there. 

When she was younger, she had found it strange that the moat was inside of the fortress, and entire ring on its own. It occurred to her that any moat outside of the walls would simply empty downhill. An enclosed moat was a brilliant line of defense. There was no crossing the fifth ring without the drawbridge, but the water was impossible to see from the outside. If an army climbed the walls, they would topple over it and drown. 

The bridge felt solid beneath her feet. Everything about this fortress was the labor of geniuses long past. 

“Did my first courier reach you? She never returned with news.”

“She did, but there was a storm as she was about to return to you. I insisted she stay instead of risking her life in the mountains, but she decided to leave. I fear she may have frozen to death during the night. I did receive word from the second one you sent, Your Highness.”

He was defensive. Of course. Solace would be stupid to expect anything else. Lady Hocke was fond of her, but her son was his own person. “No, no. We encountered the storm as well, when it was much milder. I should be the one apologizing. I brought a burden into your home.” 

“Apologize for nothing, Your Highness. We are nothing if not servants of the empire.”

They crossed the fourth ring quickly. Aside from the stables, it was a farm of some sort, a small one, considering how quickly they passed it. It was enclosed in glass. She had not expected that anything could grow at this altitude, so early in the year. Maybe the Hockes had the same talent with potatoes as they did with hounds. 

The third ring was half grainery, half training fields and barracks for an army they barely had. Within a day, it would be full with her troops. 

“When will the Calemnars and the Jaarvans arrive?” asked Hocke. 

“Within a week or so. I don’t know the specifics.” 

“And what about Elanthine Buliere’s army? You mentioned her in your letter.” 

Solace frowned. “I know even less about that, Lord Hocke. Elanthine will involve herself in this eventually, I am able to confidently tell you that. She is too much of an opportunist to stand by.” 

“Fair enough, Your Highness, but she is in exile across the sea. Is she really still a threat?” 

“She will always be a threat,” Solace said. “What I am about to tell you are secrets of the crown and collar, do you understand?”

“Do you wish me to swear a sacred oath to Orstenthe, Your Highness?”

“That won’t be necessary.” She turned her head again, but there was no one behind her who had not been told already. “Elanthine has been amassing Jaarvan support. We believe she has an army of fifty-thousand.” 

“Only Jaarvans?” asked the lord. “Keland has always been an enemy of ours, the Odium as well.”

“The Kelish cannot afford war with us, and the Odium refuses to negotiate with anyone of Buliere blood. We ought to consider ourselves lucky.” 

“Yes, Your Highness. Well said.” Hocke pursed his lips. “I read your letter, but I want to be on exact terms. Your plan is to shelter at Neithock until Her Grace liberates us.”

Solace nodded. 

“You operate on the assumption that all enemy forces will be drawn to Neithock so that Her Grace may descend upon all of them at once,” he said. “And if that isn’t the case?”

“I operate on the assumption that my mother will have the strength to hunt down every last soldier who is wrongfully on our soil,” Solace said. “Half a million Keervanians is more than enough to destroy any invading force.” 

“Right, Your Highness. Of course.” His face took on a strange expression. He was hiding something. Solace recognized that. She was hiding something as well. “Half a million.”

Did he know? Well, of course he did. He would have to be blind and deaf in order not to notice her mother’s army. Her mother likely swore the Hockes to secrecy. 

She glanced at him. His eyes were fixed to a distant point ahead. “Again,” she said steadily, “I thank you on behalf of all of Keervan.”

“We are nothing if not servants of the empire,” he repeated. 

The second ring, the kennels. She heard the distant barking of the beasts and smiled. Emmet and Solace’s dog, Duckling, had been half Hocke hound. They had received her as a gift.

Solace grimaced. The Odite had slit the dog’s throat as she rushed to the prince’s rescue. 

“Here we are, My Lady.”

The innermost ring. It was something like a village. At least a hundred people lived in this fortress, all of them here. The Hocke family lived in the centermost manor. It was just as stately as the Daledan estate, but nowhere in size. Not that it was small, it was quite an impressive mansion. 

A pair of Hocke guards opened the doors. She had not visited since she was a toddler. A hall of brocade walls, a row of chandeliers hung from a high ceiling. It wasn’t unlike her long-abandoned summer palace.

A servant approached her. “May I take your cloak, Your Highness?”

She slipped the heavy cloak off and handed it to the man. As the doors began to shut, she held up her palm. “Wait. Let him through.”

“Your Highness, we know what that man is,” said Lord Hocke. “His identity is not a well-kept secret.”

She kept her face blank. “And what exactly is he, My Lord?”

“My mother will not allow an Odite into the manor. She will not be pleased,” he warned. 

“I understand that you are intolerant of his kind, as you should be. But so long as he is within the borders of Keervan, there is not a single fortress, nor manor, nor room that he will be kept out of against my wishes. I expect you to show him the same hospitality you have shown me. Have I made myself clear?”

He bowed deeply and ushered Ascelin in. “I apologize, Your Highness.”

“You are forgiven.” She put a hand on her slave’s back and looked to the lord. “Please, take me to your mother.” 

He led her up two flights of stairs and down a long, windowless corridor. The last room at the very end was Lady’s Hocke’s. Rohart opened the door to an equally dark room, curtains drawn shut and candles extinguished. 

“Forgive me, Your Highness. My mother is sensitive to light.”

Solace nodded, pointing to a corner. Ascelin retreated to it. 

“Lady Hocke,” she said, grasping the woman’s hand. “It is a pleasure to see you after so many years.” 

Jhonna Hocke blinked wearily and squeezed Solace’s fingers. “So the rumors are true.”

“Rumors, My Lady?” 

“The Odite Lion,” she croaked. “You have brought him here.” 

“Yes,” Solace said. “But I have no intentions to spite you. I realize that you are wary of him. I would be as well, if he was any other man.”

Jhonna reached her other hand toward him. “Let me see him.”

“Come, Ascelin.” 

She made an effort to sit up as he approached. Solace propped a pillow between the headboard and her back. She stared at the slave, face set into a sneer. “What happened to him? Did you give him a beating?”

“No, My Lady,” she said. “But the Calemnars aren’t as sensitive to… boundaries as you and I.”

The old woman grinned, her vicious nature apparent. She was quite a hero in the empress’ wars. “So, did you burn their little castle to the ground for touching him?”

“No,” she said, “but I threatened it, of course.”

“You truly are your mother’s daughter in the way of violence,” said Jhonna. “And any child of Verity is welcome in my fortress. Keep that western animal out of trouble and out of my sight, and I will host you happily as long as you decide to stay.” 

“Thank you, My Lady. I will leave you to rest now.” Solace gently tugged her hand back, but she pulled her in closer. 

Mouth to her ear, Jhonna whispered, “The other rumors are true as well, aren’t they, Your Highness?”

“My apologies, what other rumors?” she asked.

A challenging smile. She liked to watch Solace squirm. “Are you your mother’s daughter in the way of love as well?” 

The stories in Eriadne’s book. The instant realization. Her mother, deciding she loved her father the very moment they met. 

She pulled away from Jhonna. “I wish you a lovely rest, My Lady. Thank you for a warm reception.”

“So you are, Solace Buliere,” she said to her back. “So you are.”


	15. Not an Update

Hi, everyone!

Whew, it's been a while. Sorry. My free time ever since the academic year started has been consumed by college. With that being said, I've finally been struck with the inspiration to write! So, here are the options: 

1\. Complete rewrite of SnA. 

2\. Continuation of this version at a much slower pace in order to preserve writing style. 

3\. Continuation of this version with a dramatically different writing style.

What can I say? My writing style has changed a lot in the past few months lol. Sorry to disappear on all of you! I've missed you all. Please let me know in the comments. And yes, I'm talking to you too, lurkers. I was one of you in the past, and I appreciate all of you more than you could ever know, which is why your opinion is so important to me! Let me hear it <3


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